Broken Chains
by Allidon
Summary: They find her during a job, and Murphy refuses to leave her behind. Can the brothers help her to decipher her past and remember who she used to be?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Erm, so this is my first foray into BDS fic, and actually my first time writing at all in over 10 years. I just kind of had this in my head and needed to get it out. I do have a vague idea of where it's going, but I appreciate it's probably not a particularly original idea. It's set after the first film, although for the purposes of this fic the brothers stayed in America, moving from town to town, rather than going into hiding in Ireland. I'm not American, so any mistakes or British-isms that sneak in I apologise in advance for.**

**Disclaimer: The world and characters in this story don't belong to me, it all belongs to Troy Duffy, with the exception of my original character(s) who are (unfortunately for them) all mine.**

"…et Spiritus Sancti." Connor and Murphy MacManus completed their family prayer in unison, before pulling their triggers simultaneously. The man kneeling in front of them slumped to the floor instantly, blood seeping into the carpet. The brothers gave each other a glance and a mutual squeeze to the shoulder, and then took a brief moment to look around the room that they had ambushed only minutes before. Four men lay dead, including the man they had just executed, the last members of the local gang that held fort in the town they'd driven into a few weeks before. Having assured themselves that the job was done, they slid their guns back into their holsters, lifted their masks and then, with well practiced ease, moved to quickly check the room for anything they might find of use.

Connor moved to the right side of the room, rifling through the drawers of a tall antique unit situated against the wall next to the door. He found very little of interest, with the exception of some small wads of cash which he pocketed without much thought. He was about to reach for the next drawer, when a muffled curse from his brother had him whipping round, gun back in his hand, in an automatic motion he didn't even have to give thought to. His brother's gun was drawn too, as he moved softly and cautiously towards the desk at the far end of the room and found himself on the end of a gun.

Murphy steadied his hands and aimed his gun, although he didn't fire immediately, pausing to take in the threat in front of him. The hands holding the pistol were clearly untrained, the grip was too tight and the arms were trembling. He looked past the gun into the face of a clearly terrified young woman, backed into the corner and rising to her feet from the crouched position she had previously held; eyes wide and bottom lip caught between her teeth as she fought to keep her hands steady. He took in her appearance quickly, bare footed with her hands chained together with leather cuffs, clothed only in a loosely fitted thin tank dress. There was some sort of collar on her neck, stark against her pale skin, and he noticed she looked like she hadn't been outside or eaten a decent meal in probably quite some time. He relaxed his arms slightly and lowered his gun to the floor, before raising his hands to show he meant her no harm.

"Hey now, lass," he murmured softly, moving slowly towards her. "We're here to help ye, aye?"

"Murph, what the fuck are ye doin'?" Connor hissed across at him, his own gun still trained on the woman behind the desk who was aiming a gun at his brother.

"Look at her, Conn. She's scared fuckin' witless."

"Aye, so fuckin' scared that she's aiming a gun at yer head?" Connor shot back, as his twin continued to try and talk her down. Murphy moved closer to her, until he was close enough to wrap his fingers round her shaking hands and she lost her grip on the gun, letting it fall harmlessly into his hands. He put it down on the desk to the side of him, sliding it across to Connor who quickly grabbed it and then snorted in derision. "Fuckin' safety's still on. Fuck's sake." He stuck it in his duffle bag and moved to start placing his pennies and praying for the men they'd just dispatched.

Murphy wasn't listening. His attention was trained on the woman in front of him who, having lost her hope of defending herself, seemed frozen in place, barely even blinking. "Lass?" he asked softly, his fingers still gently holding her clasped hands. "Lass, I'm gonna take these chains off for ye, aye? Just gonna unbuckle this right here…" his voice trailed off as he started to unbuckle the cuff on her left wrist, noticing that she hadn't reacted to him at all. Her eyes seemed to be trained at the wall behind him, her face blank and emotionless. Truth be told, it was starting to freak him out a little, but he didn't see what else he could do. The woman was clearly there against her will, so they could hardly leave her there for the police or, heaven forbid, some offshoot of the group of men they'd just assassinated, to find her. No, she would have to come with them and they'd decide what to do later. The cuffs fell to the floor as he unbuckled the right side, and although she flinched at the noise they made as they hit the carpet she kept her eyes focused on whatever it was behind him. He moved his attention to the collar on her neck. He had to fight against the bile that threatened to rise as he took in the bruises that mottled her skin, clear markers that showed where someone had gripped her arms forcefully and repeatedly. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened to her. He bit back the anger and disgust he could feel swirling in his stomach, threatening to burst out, and focused on removing the collar. He laid it softly on the desk, before taking hold of her shoulders as gently as he could and turning her to face him. "Lass?" he asked again, bewildered by her lack of response. Her face still held that blank, unsettling expression and he suddenly felt completely out of his depth. "Connor?" he called, turning slightly. "Ye nearly done?"

"Aye," Connor sighed, as he finished his prayer over the last of their victims and grabbed his bag before moving towards the door. "We need to move."

Murphy made a noise of agreement and manoeuvred the woman around to the front of the desk, grabbing his own bag as he passed it.

"What are ye doin'?" Connor exclaimed as his brother moved towards him with the woman walking woodenly behind him. "Ye can't bring her with us, Murph."

Murphy looked at his brother, face twisted in confusion. "Well what the fuck else are we gonna do with her Conn? We can't just leave her here. Something's not right, and we can't just leave her. What if the wrong people find her?"

"Well what d'ye expect us to do with her? Girl's clearly traumatised, she needs help. We don't need a burden like that Murph, we can hardly do anything for her when we're in hidin' from both sides of the law now can we?" Connor tried hard to keep the frustration out of his voice, but he could tell from the stubborn expression that shifted onto his twin's face that he'd probably failed. He gritted his teeth in irritation, they'd spent too much time on the job as it was and they had to get clear before anyone got wind of what had just gone down. "Fine," he bit out, defeated. "But we're callin' Smecker in the morning, and passin' her on to someone that'll help her. Right?"

"Right," Murphy agreed, tugging gently on the woman's hand as they moved swiftly out of the building and back to their car.


	2. Chapter 2

She sat rigid and motionless in the back seat of the car, trying to make sense of the evening's events as she watched the men in front of her continue their disagreement. They were talking in a language she didn't understand but, from the way the driver kept looking at her in his rear view mirror and the way the darker haired passenger was gesticulating wildly in her direction as he spoke, she assumed that they were still arguing over what to do with her.

The darker haired one. The one that had spoken to her softly, who had crept so slowly and hypnotically towards her that she had given up her gun, her last defence, without even realising what she was doing. The one who had gently removed her chains. The chains that _he_ had told her she would never escape from. She wondered if he'd been wrong, if he had actually been bested, or if this was some other torture, some new game or a test that she had to pass in order to continue her miserable existence. It wouldn't be the first time. She wondered if she cared enough to work it out, or if she'd rather these strange new men had just killed her along with the men she'd been held by. This one's kindness seemed genuine though, didn't feel like the masks she'd seen on others who only intended to hurt her.

The other one was more difficult to work out. He had reacted angrily to the other's insistence to bring her along, yet the two of them were clearly close and worked together in almost perfect sync. She had seen how they burst into the room in unison, taking her captors down with hardly a wasted bullet and then dispatching the boss with a strange verse that they had whispered in harmony. They obviously shared a deep bond, long time friends or maybe even brothers. She couldn't see any way that they could not be both on the same side. Yes, she decided. If the dark haired one was truly intent on helping her, then she could only assume that the other had similar intentions, even if he would have preferred to leave her behind.

Maybe these men were different, different to the ones who had hurt her and broken her, stolen her life and her memories away. But then, maybe that was what she was supposed to think.

* * *

Connor focused his attention on the road, determined not to continue the pointless argument with his twin. He could feel his brother's reproachful gaze on him, knowing Murphy understood his argument just as well as he understood Murphy's, but still not agreeing. Murphy thought she was at risk if they left her behind and wanted to deal with it themselves. It wasn't that he didn't see where Murphy was coming from, there was clearly something dodgy about men keeping a woman chained up in their house, but he wasn't sure exactly how Murphy thought they were supposed to help her.

They had had a plan, clear the last of the gang they'd targeted and then high-tail it out of town before anyone started to notice their presence or potentially link them to the recent gang hits. They would move onto another town, clear it of its criminals just like they had all the towns before, and they would keep moving. Keep moving was the simplest but most important part of the plan, keep moving and don't form attachments. Instead they were now saddled with this woman who would be learning more and more about them as every minute passed, who probably needed some sort of professional help, who would have to speak to the police about what had happened to her and could easily let slip about the men who'd rescued her. All they had had to do was leave her there in the room for the police to find, where her report of what happened might have added to the local police department's conclusion that the Saints had been responsible, but nothing more than they might have known before. Now, who fuckin' knew how they got themselves out of this. Murphy was deluding himself if he couldn't see the danger this put them in.

Murphy pulled his eyes from his brother and watched out of the window for a while, chewing on his lip as the miles passed. He hated arguing with Connor, hated screwing up his carefully laid plans, but he had felt so strongly about this, had been so sure it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do, really. He turned his head over his shoulder to look at the woman sitting in the seat behind Connor's. He was fairly certain she hadn't moved for the entire journey up until that point. She sat bolt upright in her seat, her hands gripping the edge of the seat tightly at either side of her legs. Her blue eyes were focused straight ahead of her, similar to how they had been when he'd been freeing her from her restraints, and her lips were pressed together in a thin line. He suddenly realised how this must all seem to her, and how she must be freaking out at what was going on.

"Hey," he said in a softer tone than he'd been using towards his brother. "Sorry to drag ye out o' there without much of a word. We just had to move before trouble hit. We need to drive a fair bit yet, but once we get stopped somewhere ye'll be able to get a shower and some grub." If she heard, or understood, she didn't show any sign of it. Just carried on staring straight ahead, her gaze boring a hole in the back of Connor's seat. "We must've freaked ye out quite a bit, showing up like that," he tried again, biting at his thumb at her continued lack of response. "I'm Murphy," he said brightly, trying a different tack. "And this here is me brother, Connor." His twin noticeably stiffened at the disclosure, clearly not comfortable with the way Murphy was sharing their identities so freely. "S'fine Conn, she's alright," he muttered, although he wasn't sure why he was so convinced of the fact. She had yet to react to anything either of them had said or done, there was nothing at all to suggest what she might do with the information. "Ye got a name, lass?" he enquired, before falling quiet as she continued to sit in silence.

Connor snorted. "Nice one, Murph. Ye really got her talkin' there, didn't ye?"

"Oh, away an' fuck yerself Conn," he responded, a good natured tone returning to his voice after their earlier argument. "'M doin' me fuckin' best." Their eyes met, and they laughed before grinning at each other and settling into comfortable silence for the rest of the drive.


	3. Chapter 3

Finally, after too many hours on the road, they pulled towards a fairly large town. Connor was always careful selecting their destinations, small enough that they could clear through any local crime elements quickly, but large enough that their arrival would go mostly unnoticed. They had already driven by several towns on this particular journey that he had vetoed on one ground or another.

As the car slowed, Murphy yawned and stretched in his seat, noticing the insistent growl coming from his stomach for the first time. "Ye wanna find a diner or something first, get us something to eat?"

"Are ye serious? Look at her Murph, she's half dressed and covered in bruises. We start waltzing around town with her lookin' like that, we'll be in a fuckin' cell before the day's out. No, we need to get us a room first, then sort out some food and figure out what to do next." Murphy didn't bother arguing, Connor was firmly back in planning mode and besides, he had a point. They _would_ arouse suspicion if anyone saw them.

They stopped at the first motel with a vacancy sign, and Connor went to sort a room while Murphy stayed in the car with the still nameless woman. He found himself talking just to break the awkward silence that fell over the enclosed space without his brother's presence.

"We'll just get us a room sorted, and then ye'll be able to get something to eat. Ye must be starving, lass. Pizza, maybe? Everyone likes pizza, right?" He found that he spoke the last part to himself more than anything. He was finding her continued refusal to respond to him increasingly frustrating. He understood that she'd clearly had something traumatic happen to her even before he and Connor had yanked her out of that room, but surely some small amount of interaction wasn't too much to ask? If it wasn't for her even, rhythmic breathing, he'd be half-inclined to think she was dead. He was broken from his thoughts by Connor banging on the roof of the car, and he slid out and grabbed their bags from the trunk. Connor had opened the woman's door and was helping her manoeuvre out when her legs buckled under her and she collapsed to the ground.

The twins exchanged a non-plussed look, before Murphy shoved the bags at his brother, scooped the woman off the ground and hurried after Connor to their room. He had just laid her prone form on the bed nearest the door when her eyes fluttered back open. For the briefest moment, confusion followed by panic seemed to seep into her face, before she re-gained her bearings and the blank mask that she'd been wearing settled back into place. Murphy noted this with interest – so the empty and expressionless stare she seemed to have perfected _was_ a mask. There was a real person underneath it, a person who clearly felt the need to hide. He felt a stab of guilt at his earlier frustration – he had no idea what was going on inside this woman and he had no right to expect anything from her.

"Hey," he said softly. "Ye had a wee moment there, think ye probably just need somethin' to eat. I'll get ye a drink of water and then we'll sort out some pizza."

"I'll go and get pizza," said Connor, suddenly desperate to get out of the room. "And beer. A lot of beer," he muttered to himself as he exited the room.

As Murphy moved into the small bathroom to seek out a glass, the woman pulled herself into a seated position on the bed. She allowed her eyes to track briefly round the small room, taking in the dated décor, twin beds and small television set in the corner. A quick glance told her the window was probably locked, not that she was considering any sort of break for freedom. She was rapidly allowing herself to grasp onto the tiny sliver of hope that these men had sparked inside her. Maybe, just maybe, they were good men. They had so far treated her with a kindness she couldn't remember having ever experienced. Perhaps she needed to trust her feeling that they meant her no harm. She resolved to try and return their kindness a little, maybe then she could stay with them instead of being sent somewhere else. She hadn't forgotten Connor's insistence that she be sent to "Smecker", whoever that was.

When Murphy returned with a small glass half-filled with water, she quickly blanked her face again, but as he placed in her hand she opened her mouth to thank him only to find that no words would come out. She took a sharp intake of breath, drawing a worried look from the darker twin, but still nothing would come out. Instead she gave an almost imperceptible nod, before placing the glass to her lips and drinking the cool liquid in a rapid, desperate gulp. Murphy grinned a little, and took the glass from her hand. She tried to return the smile, but her face remained frozen in place. Nevertheless, Murphy noted the twitch in her lips and, coupled with the nod she'd given him to thank him for the water, decided this was probably a sign that he was starting to get through to her a little. His grin widened slightly, and he looked down at the empty glass in his hand.

"Ye must've been thirsty, aye lass? Sorry 'bout that, never even occurred to me. I'll get ye another glass."

When Connor returned soon after with the pizza and beer, the three of them sat in awkward silence, broken only by the brothers arguing over the last slice and popping open the beers at an astonishing pace. Murphy noted that the woman ate painfully slowly, one tiny bite at a time, but he figured that eating something was better than nothing and decided not to comment on it.

With the food finished, he took in her bedraggled appearance again, her dark hair matted and dirty. "Ye want to take the first shower, lass?" Deciding to take her lack of response as an agreement, he got up and grabbed some stuff out of his bag before moving to the bathroom. Thankfully she followed him in silently, stopping to stand in the middle of the tiny room.

"Well, there's some soap and shampoo here," he said, setting the supplies down next to the sink. "And a towel just there, and I've got ye a clean t-shirt and some boxers here. They're mine, but they'll do for just now and we'll get ye something proper tomorrow."

She gave him another one of those little nods, and he grinned in response.

"Y'know, it'd be a lot easier to help ye if ye would just talk to us," he carried on good-naturedly. "Even a name would be a start eh? Can't just keep on calling ye lass forever." Still nothing. He sighed resignedly and moved towards the door. "I'll just be out here if ye need me." He flashed her another smile, and then closed the door behind him.

She watched him leave, and as soon as she was alone she locked the door and leaned against it, sinking down to sit on the floor and lay her head on her raised knees. "No one," she whispered softly to herself. "I am no one."


	4. Chapter 4

When she emerged from the bathroom some time later, Murphy noted that her body language was somewhat different. Her shoulders weren't as tense, her face, scrubbed clean, seemed almost to glow and her eyes were a little brighter and perhaps more open than her previously held blank stare. Her damp hair formed dark curls over her shoulders, and his gaze tracked almost involuntarily down the rest of her body, flickering over her torso and down her slender legs. Her emaciated frame was drowned in the folds of his t-shirt, but he found he liked it on her. There was something comfortable about it, as if somehow by sharing his clothes he had managed to make some sort of connection with her. As if painfully aware of his stare, she stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, wrapping her arms around her torso anxiously, until Connor cleared his throat and announced that he'd go next. She moved to the side to let him past, and then raised her eyes to meet Murphy's for the briefest of moments as the door closed behind his brother. Almost as soon as their eyes met hers flicked off to the side again, and Murphy reluctantly ended the moment by moving towards the beds.

"So, I thought ye could have my bed. Well, it's not my bed, obviously. But it's the bed I would've used…" he trailed off, mentally cursing himself for his sudden inability to form a sentence. "Anyway, this one," he gestured and she moved towards it hesitantly. They stood at either side of the bed, each waiting for the other to move first. Eventually, Murphy stepped forward and pulled the covers on the bed down and indicated for her to get in. She did so obediently, eyes downcast, the mattress barely shifting as she settled. As she pulled her knees up to her chest, curling herself almost into a ball, he awkwardly pulled the covers back up over her body. He stood for a moment, unsure of what to do next, before whispering a quiet good night and moving to sit on the other bed while he waited for Connor to finish his shower.

* * *

When she woke the next morning, she lay for a minute or two with her eyes still closed as the sleepy fuzz faded from her mind and she considered the events of the previous evening. She'd scrubbed herself raw in the shower, trying to remove any remnants of the men they'd found her with, finding that the sensation of the hot water over her body relaxed some of the tension she'd been clinging to. When she was done she had dried herself, finger-combed her hair as best she could manage and then dressed in the clothes Murphy had left for her. They were more than over-sized on her, the t-shirt coming almost to her knees, but it was a welcome change from the thin dresses she'd been forced to wear previously. The clothes held a distinctive odour, earthy and smoky along with some other element she couldn't identify. She'd held the shirt to her nose and breathed it in, and marvelled that something as simple as a smell could give her such an overwhelming feeling of peace and safety. She'd forced her body to retain its more relaxed stature against all of her instincts, desperate to try and demonstrate some fraction of the trust she was putting in the brothers even if she didn't feel able to tell them yet.

When she'd come out of the tiny room, she'd immediately felt Murphy's eyes on her. They'd raked over her the way men's eyes had so many times before, but there was something different in the way he looked at her. He'd looked at her like she was a person, not just a body to be bent and twisted and used. She hadn't been entirely sure how to react, and she'd suddenly found herself feeling self-conscious and desperate to hide somehow, hide from that dark blue gaze that seemed to see right inside her. Connor had broken the moment by declaring he was going to take a shower, and then the biggest shock of all had occurred. Murphy had given her his bed. He had given her his bed and he had slept on the floor. She pondered briefly over the fact that of everything that had happened over the past day or so, this was the biggest surprise for her. She'd rarely been offered any comfort at all, and certainly not at the expense of whichever man whose possession she was in. This was something entirely new, and the biggest indicator that perhaps these brothers did genuinely mean to help her.

She gradually became aware of their voices, the funny lilting tone that they shared washing over her almost like music. They were speaking animatedly, but quietly, and she wondered if maybe they were trying not to wake her. She concentrated closely and grasped onto the odd word she could make out in order to try and get the gist of their topic of conversation.

"Why do I have to go? How the fuck am I s'posed to know what to buy? I don't know what sorta stuff women need." She was fairly certain that voice was Murphy's. They were obviously talking about something to do with her again. She vaguely recalled Murphy having said something about getting her some clothes to wear.

"Oh, and I do?" Yes, that one was definitely Connor, his tone incredulous. "Look Murph, this was your idea. You were the one that wanted to bring her along, and I understand your reasons and everything, but I'm sure as hell not traipsing round some department store looking at women's clothes. Besides," he paused, and she thought perhaps he would be grinning at his brother. "I've already been out and got the coffee and breakfast. It's your turn."

She heard Murphy make a sort of huffing sound, one she supposed indicated defeat. "Fine. But _you_ need to phone Smecker in that case. And I'm not going until after she wakes up."

"What d'ye think I'm gonna do to her, Murph? Just because I didn't agree with you goin' off all half-cocked doesn't mean I can't be fuckin' nice to her." A muffled crash, and they both broke out laughing. They were scuffling, she surmised, but from the accompanying chuckles and good natured ribbing she assumed it wasn't malicious. "Go on, away and do your shoppin' Murph. Don't be spending all my money now." The voice was definitely teasing, and after a brief pause she heard the door open and then bang shut.

* * *

Having shooed his brother out of the door, Connor glanced over at the still occupied bed just as the woman's eyes opened, and glanced around the room before she sat up and settled her gaze on him.

"Mornin' lass," he said, keeping a deliberately cheery tone in his voice. "Coffee?" She gave a small nod, and slipped out from under the covers to accept the cardboard cup he offered. She looked at it for a moment, before taking a tentative sip. Her lips quirked a little, and she took a slightly longer drink. "'S good stuff that," he told her. "Don't s'pose those bastards would've let you have any." Her eyes met his, and he knew he was on the right track. He passed her a bowl, and motioned for her to take it. "Breakfast," he said. "You eat up, I just need to go and make a phone call." She didn't acknowledge him, but she did take the bowl and start to pick at the dry cereal.

He took the opportunity to step out, and made his way outside the motel to find a phone box. He lit a cigarette and then pulled out the dog-eared card that he made sure to keep on his person at all time. He dialled, and waited impatiently for Smecker to pick up. They explained brief pleasantries, but Smecker knew the brothers didn't call without good reason and this was no exception. Connor gave him a brief rundown of their activities on their last stop, finishing with the discovery of the woman.

"I dunno what's with her to be honest with ye," he admitted, raking his fingers through his hair and stopping to scratch his neck. "She hasn't said a word to either of us, in fact for most of the time she's barely even looking at us. She's got this fuckin' freaky stare like she's lookin' right through you, like you're not even there. Something's not right."

Smecker sighed. Just what he needed, another shitstorm surrounding these two. "Right, I'll need to come out to you," he said tiredly. "If she's a significant missing person we can't just have her appearing without a convincing story. I'll need to do some digging, find out who she is. Where are you now?" Connor gave him the name of the town they were in, and the details of their motel room. "Right, stay there. Don't do anything, nothing at all that could raise suspicions. I should be able to get there tomorrow without too many questions."

They ended the conversation quickly, and Connor made his way back up to the room. Their new companion was still sitting on the bed where he had left her, although her now empty bowl and cup were sitting across the room alongside his and Murphy's. She sat at the top of the bed, back against the wall with her knees pulled tightly to her chest, and she was back to staring at a fixed point on the wall. He sighed, and sat on the bed near her feet, careful to keep a polite distance.

"That was a friend of ours I was just talkin' to lass." As he spoke, she turned her head to look at him, her curiosity seemingly piqued. "He's more resources than we have, so he's gonna come down tomorrow and talk to ye, see if we can't figure out what your deal is, maybe figure out who ye are. But ye're gonna need to try and give us somethin', ye know." He paused, waiting for any sort of response, and was surprised to see her face soften somewhat, taking on a look he couldn't quite understand. He felt a brief thrill of success, and resolved to rib Murphy relentlessly that he had been the one to get through to her despite all Murphy's efforts. "We're tryin' to help ye here, ye need to help us in return, ok?" Suddenly, it dawned on him that the look on her face seemed to be something between disappointment and resignation, and he felt a stab of confusion. Before he had chance to take in their clear miscommunication, she gave a brief, decisive nod, leaned forward and reached for his belt buckle.

* * *

Completely at a loss of where to even start, Murphy found himself standing in the middle of the women's section of the store, awkwardly thumbing through the wad of cash in the pocket of his peacoat. He supposed it held a kind of poetic irony that the money they'd lifted at the end of their last job was going to pay to clothe the woman they'd rescued at the same time. He'd just have preferred not to be the one doing the shopping.

His fidgeting was increasingly drawing suspicious stares from other customers, and at the behest of several of them he found a sales woman making her way towards him and asking if he needed any help. She was quite a few years older than him, but she had a kindly, if somewhat patronising, tone to her voice, and he grabbed onto the offer of assistance with considerable gratitude.

"Aye, I guess I do," he said, chewing his lip. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and continued. "My, erm, my cousin. She's turned up unexpectedly, and she's only the clothes on her back. Said I'd pop out and get her some stuff." He grinned expectantly at the sales woman.

She looked bemusedly back at him. "Can't she just come in and get it for herself?"

Shit. Of course, that's what normal people would do. "She…erm…" his voice trailed off as his mind flailed around desperately. "Sick. She's sick. Stuck in bed, and the clothes she brought aren't fit for anything now."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but accepted his story and moved on. "Well, what size does she take? And what does she need?"

"Well, she's about…this tall? And real skinny, maybe like this?" he gestured with her hands, and he could've sworn she rolled her eyes at him. "And she needs, well, everything I guess. I dunno what women wear. Just some casual stuff, aye? T-shirts and jeans or something." He paused, and then as an afterthought added, "and shoes. She'll need shoes."

"She didn't bring shoes either?" the sales woman asked drily, and he averted his eyes and hoped the heat he felt in his cheeks wasn't visible. The woman thankfully bustled off, and he followed after her like a lost puppy. She selected garments off the rails as she passed, pulling them out and loading them into his arms in one swift movement without even so much as a second glance in his direction. By the time they'd circled the whole department she had collected together a reasonably sized package of basic clothing, and he thanked her profusely, paid and shot out of the store before he could embarrass himself any further.

He shifted the bag to balance its weight on one arm and rustled around in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. He lit one and took a deep drag, savouring the taste more than usual after the mortification of the clothing store. He supposed Connor was right that it was his responsibility, but he had fun thinking up ways to pay him back as he took a slow and leisurely walk back to the motel.

He let himself into the room just in time to see his twin leap backwards across the room with a muffled curse, as the young woman he'd been shopping for cowered back into the bed with her hands raised protectively over her face. He looked from one to the other and back again in complete confusion, before finally breaking the silence.

"What th' FUCK is goin' on?"


	5. Chapter 5

"'M fucked if I know," muttered Connor darkly, grabbing his coat and stalking past his brother and out of the door. As it slammed behind him, Murphy sighed in exasperation and ran his fingers through his hair. He guessed Connor had probably gone for a smoke and to collect his thoughts, and if that was the case then following after him now was a sure fire way to get himself a fist to the jaw. He'd talk to Connor next, he decided, once he'd calmed down a touch. He turned his attention to the girl. He chewed his thumbnail as he took her in, curled in a ball against the wall, rocking back and forth and murmuring to herself. At least she was talking, he supposed. That part was new. He approached the bed hesitantly, not wanting to startle her, and tentatively perched on the edge of the mattress.

"Y'ok there, lass? Wanna tell me what's goin' on?" She didn't react to his presence at all, just continued to rock, pulling at her hair as she continued to mumble. He shifted a little closer, straining to make out any of the words. As he tuned in to the sound of her voice, he made out the word "sorry" as she repeated it over and over again, so quickly that each utterance of the word merged into the next. "Lass?"

"…sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry…," the muttering continued as if he wasn't even there. He reached out cautiously to touch her shoulder, hoping to comfort her, but he barely made contact with her before she flinched and pushed herself even further against the wall. He pulled back, completely at a loss for what to do, when she suddenly looked right at him through the wild curtain her hair had formed over her face. "Please?" she said, her voice small and pleading. "Please. Don't…," her voice trailed off and her gaze dropped down to her knees where her fingers were fiddling with a loose thread on her shirt.

He stared at her in complete bewilderment. Don't what? What on earth was she so afraid that he might do, that Connor might have done? They'd been nothing but nice to her.

"Not gonna do anything t'hurt ye lass, if that's what ye mean?" he offered. "Me an' Conn, we really are just tryin' to help ye out. Ye wanna tell me what went on while I was away?" She just looked at him, lost and confused. She opened her mouth to speak, took a deep breath, but seemed to be struggling to form words to answer him.

"He… I… He-he said… I thought…," she paused, and met his eyes again. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "Please don't send me away. I'll do better, I promise."

Send her away? Send her away _where_? What was she saying sorry for? What the hell was going on?

"Look, we're not sendin' ye anywhere lass, not against your will anyhow. I'm sure whatever went on with Connor before was just a misunderstandin', and we'll figure it all out just fine. No need to apologise I'm sure." He reached out for her shoulder again, and though she flinched she didn't pull back this time. He gave it a gentle squeeze. He retrieved the shopping bags from where he'd dropped them as he came in, and laid them on the bed. "Got ye some clothes earlier. Th' woman in the store picked 'em out so they should be ok. How 'bout ye have dig through and get dressed, and I'll go and deal with Connor, ok?" She gave a nod, and he grinned back at her. "Now, mind. Totally shamed meself wandering around the women's bit o' the store like some sort of pervert, so ye better appreciate me efforts." He winked, and she finally gave him a small smile in return. He squeezed her shoulder again, and then left to find his twin.

* * *

Murphy ran that smile through his mind as he moved down the corridor and out to the front of the motel. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such a sense of achievement about something so seemingly unimportant. He couldn't remember the last time a pretty girl's smile had him so tied up in knots either, but he pushed that thought away. Now wasn't the time, he wasn't sure it ever would be again. Their mission was not only too important to compromise; it was too dangerous for anyone else to get involved in. _Rocco._ He pushed that thought away too. It had been over a year, and the crushing guilt he felt about his friend's death hadn't abated any. There was no way he was ever letting anyone else get caught up in his calling.

He found Connor leaning against the wall, surrounded by cigarette butts, another one half-burned in his hand. He mirrored his brother's stance and pulled his own cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one and taking a deep drag before speaking.

"So, what happened then?" he asked, turning to look at his twin. Connor continued to stare straight ahead, his brow furrowed in thought, the cigarette between his fingers burning down unnoticed. Murphy sighed and turned away again. He knew his brother would talk when he was ready, when he'd mulled everything over and worked through all the information.

He'd nearly finished his cigarette when Connor finally spoke. "I called Smecker. He'll be here tomorrow." Murphy made a small noise of acknowledgement and waited for Connor to continue. "I went to talk to the lass after that. Tried t'explain that she needed to give us some information to work with, y'know? Help us out a bit with figuring it all out. Guess I got me words wrong, eh?" He chuckled drily, still shocked at what had happened, before his expression darkened. Murphy looked up and met his brother's eyes. "She thought I was after sexual favours, can ye believe it? Tried to unbuckle me trousers and everythin'." Connor paused, lighting another cigarette and taking a couple of puffs before he continued. "That girl must've been through some serious shit Murph. Someone did somethin' terrible to her. And when I find out who…"

"We'll kill them." Murphy finished, having already reached the same conclusion. "Every last one who hurt her." Connor nodded his agreement. They finished smoking in silence, before moving back into the motel in unison.

* * *

When they got back to the room, their new friend was dressed in the clothes Murphy had bought for her, a simple outfit of jeans, a vest top and a thin cardigan. Murphy grinned at her, and she quirked her lip back at him. "'S nice to see ye looking more normal lass," he teased gently. Her smile grew a little, before her eyes flicked to where Connor stood behind his twin. Her smile fell, and she looked back to Murphy, chewing her lip. "I've spoken to Connor about what happened, seems it was just a bit of a misunderstandin', aye?" She nodded, and Connor spoke from behind him.

"Aye, lass. 'M sorry, I didn't mean to make ye feel like that. That wasn't my intention at all." She nodded again, and took a breath.

"I…I'm sorry too," she offered, and Connor looked at her in surprise.

"Oh, did I not tell ye that part Conn? I finally got her talkin', just like I said I would," Murphy announced triumphantly.

Connor took a moment to take in the new development, and then grinned slyly at his brother. "Oh, _you_ got her talkin', is it? I think our wee misunderstandin' might've had something t'do with it, what d'ye say lass?" The twins turned to look at the woman in unison, waiting for her verdict.

She looked back and forth between the two uncertainly, clearly not wanting to take sides, before grinning at them and shrugging her shoulders. "Maybe a little, but…"

She didn't get a chance to finish before Connor turned his brother's previous triumphant look back against him, and then Murphy launched himself at his twin. They rolled around the floor, a tangle of limbs, throwing half hearted punches at each other and sounding off in a variety of languages. She watched them with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, enjoyed the good-natured banter the brothers shared but at the same time finding herself increasingly intrigued by them. She was suddenly eager to find out who they were, why they had been in that room to kill all those men, how it was even possible for them to be both the cold and methodical assassins she had seen that night and the affectionate, high-spirited men she saw before her. She wanted to know everything she could about them.

When their scuffle began to wind down, she looked at them as they scrambled to their feet, still ribbing each other and giving the occasional shove, and she couldn't help but laugh. The twins grinned at her, and she grinned back and finished what she'd intended to say. "It was kind of a joint effort, wasn't it?" The boys looked at each other and shrugged.

"I can accept that," Connor concurred.

"Aye," nodded Murphy, rubbing at a sort spot on his side where Connor had rolled him into one of the beds. "'M fuckin' starvin'," he announced, patting his belly. "Ye wanna go out for lunch, lass?"

Her own stomach growled in response, and she nodded eagerly.

"Let's go then," Connor agreed, and the three of them swiftly exited the room and took off down the corridor together. When they reached the street outside, they fell into step at either side of her, flanking her like bodyguards. She looked up at each of them, before fixing her gaze straight ahead and smiling to herself. She wasn't sure she'd ever felt quite as safe as this before, or as happy either. Maybe, just maybe, it was all going to turn out ok.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**

**Thanks for all the reviews, favourites and follows, glad you're enjoying the story! This chapter was a bit of a bugger to write, I could visualise the second part really clearly but it didn't seem to come across right when I wrote it down. Hopefully it's turned out ok! That second part might be a bit trigger-y too, so take care if you need to.**

* * *

They slid into a booth in the diner they'd come across. She sat opposite the twins, as silent as she had been previously, but her eyes were no longer as guarded as they had been before. Connor grabbed a menu, and studied it for a moment before peering over the top of it at her. "So, now ye're actually talking t'us, ye fancy tellin' us your name, lass?"

She offered a minimal shrug in response, and when he raised his eyebrows at her she answered matter-of-factly, "I don't have one."

Connor stared at her in disbelief. "How can ye not have a name?" he asked her incredulously. "_Everyone_ has a name."

"Conn…" Murphy warned, his voice low.

"It's ok," she said, twisting her hands in her lap. "I know it sounds weird. I just… I don't know anything. I can't remember anything about… before."

"Before?" Murphy asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Before I was there, with them. I know something must have come before that. I'm sure I did have a name, once. I just don't remember it." She looked down at her hands, suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm no one now," she muttered to herself, although the twins' sharp hearing picked it up all the same.

"That's not true," Murphy insisted. "Don't believe that shit they told ye, lass."

"Aye," Connor agreed. "And don't worry lass. Our pal Smecker, he's real good at figuring shit out. He'll figure out who ye are in no time."

She offered them a wan smile. "Maybe. But then…" She broke off mid-sentence as the waitress bustled up to take their order. Murphy and Connor reeled off their orders, and then looked at their companion expectantly. She stared back at them blankly, and it was Connor who realised first that she didn't know what to order.

"She'll have the same. Thanks, lass." He treated the waitress to a dazzling smile, and her cheeks blushed red. She hurried off, and the boys returned their attention to the woman at their table, who had watched the exchange and the waitress's reaction with fascination and was now watching after the woman as she moved back round the counter and handed their order off to the staff in the kitchen.

"So...," Connor began, and she turned back to look at him. "If ye don't remember anything at all…," he broke off with a yelp as Murphy kicked him under the table. "Fuck off Murph. I was just goin' to say, if ye don't remember anythin' at all, lass, then ye'll not remember ever goin' to the movies?" She shook her head, confused, and Murphy shot a baffled look at his brother.

"What the fuck has that got to with the price of fish?"

"No, hear me out," Connor insisted. "Just, I couldn't help but notice that the wee theater we passed down the street is showin' a Clint Eastwood marathon." Realisation dawned on Murphy's face, and he shook his head in amusement. "Thought we could introduce the lass to some of the classics," Connor finished with a grin.

"_You_ want to go and watch them, you mean," Murphy teased, and Connor had the good grace to shrug in acceptance.

"Well, I wouldn't mind. Would certainly pass the afternoon. But only if the lass is agreeable," he looked towards her as he spoke. She nodded in agreement, and Murphy rolled his eyes.

"Don't ye feel like ye have t'agree lass," Murphy told her. "The stupid sod's seen them all countless times. Probably knows them off by heart."

"No, it sounds like fun," she said, smiling. "Maybe if I start doing normal things it might help."

Murphy sighed in defeat. "Fine. Eastwood it is. But first," he paused as the waitress arrived back at the table. "First, we eat. Go on lass, get that down ye."

* * *

_Darkness. Everywhere was darkness. It had been since…since before. Since whatever had been before. Now there was just darkness. Darkness. The eyes. The voice._

_The eyes were looking at her, staring at her, boring into her. Brown eyes, pupils so dilated the seemed almost black in the dim light. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't somehow. The eyes wouldn't let her._

_She felt movement beside her, felt his hand take hold of her arm and twist it roughly into the position he wanted. She knew what was coming, felt the sting of the needle before it even grazed her skin. She desperately tried to escape, tried to pull her boy away, but all she did was drag her already bruised and damaged flesh against the tight restraints that surrounded her body. He laughed. He was laughing at her. Bitter tears of humiliation stung her eyes, and even as he pushed the needle into her arm she felt utter despair. The floating sensation, by now so familiar, seemed to come ever quicker each time, and soon her limbs felt heavy and then entirely immobile._

"_Who are you?" The voice taunted her. Deep, harsh, rasping. Like nails on a chalkboard. She couldn't escape it. "Who are you?" She could hear her voice responding, knew it was repeating her name, the very last thing she had, but somehow she couldn't hear it. Couldn't grasp onto it long enough to commit it to memory. She knew what would come next. It was what always came next._

"_No one. I am no one." There it was, her voice again. No longer muffled with sobs, or cracked and hopeless. Just a flat, monotonous drone, stating the truth as she knew it. She _was_ no one. Nameless._

"_That's right," the voice crooned, silky smooth, and she wanted to vomit. "Good girl. Good girl." Hands on her hair, stroking. She wanted to get away but her body wouldn't move. Her skin was crawling, every hair on end, her stomach trapped in a vice. Her body wouldn't move. She found a point on the wall, and focused all her attention on it, trying to block out his hands on her. Down her hair, to her neck. Down…_

_No. Nonononononono…_

She sprang awake to find hands on her shoulders and a face almost nose to nose with her. Suddenly her body started obeying again and she panicked, flailing her arms and hitting out in a frantic bid for escape. She could hear someone speaking but it was muffled, distant, like she was under water, and then the terror really hit. She couldn't breathe.

_I can't breathe. I can't breathe. Oh God, oh God, oh God._

She felt like she was drowning, and her body desperately started to pull in oxygen. And then she was breathing too fast, far too fast, and she couldn't make it stop. The face was still swimming in and out of focus in her vision and she desperately tried to cling to it, to hold it there long enough to see it in clarity.

_Brown eyes. Almost black. Staring right into her._

No. Blue eyes. Blue. His mouth was moving, she realised. Those vague far away words were coming from him. They burst through her confusion in a rush, full of concern. "Lass? LASS. It's me, it's Murphy. Ye're ok, it's ok…"

_The voice._

No. Not this voice. She met his gaze, held it for what seemed like hours, laying her panic bare for him to see. She was still desperately trying to draw a breath, her breathing coming in sharp bursts between half gasping sobs. He pulled her to him then, one arm clasping her body to his chest, the other drawing her head to his shoulder. He stroked her hair, shushing and whispering words she didn't understand. They sounded like his voice, soft and lilting, and she found them beautiful even though she didn't know their meaning.

_Hands on her hair_.

No. Not these hands. These hands were soft and gentle and held genuine comfort. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent, finding it offered her comfort just as the same smell on his shirt had done before. These eyes. These hands. This smell. These were safe. She took a deep shuddering breath, catching on a half sob, and he only held her tighter.

"'S'ok lass. Take your time. Nice deep breaths now, I got ye." She did as he said, taking in that scent with every breath. _Safe_. She was safe. Her breaths came slower, deeper, as he rubbed his other hand over her back, still whispering those calming words to her. As she calmed he gently shifted round, never taking his arms from around her, twisting until he was beside her on the bed. He laid them both down, careful to keep the covers between them, and settled on the bed next to her. She kept her face buried in his chest, and he rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. He slowed his soothing movements as her breathing evened out more and more, until only his thumb moved, absently rubbing circles against the soft fabric of her shirt over her back.

He was almost asleep himself when Connor slipped quietly back into the room. He wasn't even sure when his brother had got up, he realised. He'd leapt up from his position on the floor when she'd started thrashing, and Connor had still been asleep at that point. He'd raised his voice a fair amount in his attempts to wake her though; it was hardly surprising he'd roused his twin first. He must have gone out for a smoke, either pissed off at the rude awakening or trying to give the girl some privacy. Probably a bit of both.

Connor glanced down at the sleeping woman in Murphy's arms, and back up to his brother. "_Todo bien_?" He asked quietly, avoiding speaking in English just in case she was still awake.

"_Sí_." Murphy sighed. He looked down at her, and reverted back to English. "She's asleep. Hopefully she'll be out for the rest of the night. Hell of a fuckin' nightmare she must have been havin', was a bit hairy for a minute there. Scared the shit out of me, if I'm honest."

Connor looked thoughtful for a moment. "Murph, what're we gonna do if Smecker's no help tomorrow?"

"I dunno," Murphy said, quietly. "But she needs help. That's our job, Conn. Above all else, we help people. She was in that room for a reason. God must've _wanted_ us t'find her. He must have."

Connor considered his brother's words. Murphy had a pretty irrefutable point. Following the Lord had never set them wrong yet. If this was truly His plan then there was no other option than to stick to it, come what may. But what if it wasn't? Then what?

"OK," he nodded. "But if Smecker comes up with nothin', we're gonna need a plan here. We can't just sit here hopin' for the best."

"Aye, ye're right," Murphy agreed. "Maybe get an apartment, short term? Put some roots down til we figure out what we're meant to do?"

"Maybe," Connor replied, uncertainly. "Doesn't really fit with the mission though, does it? We can't go round destroying evil if we're stayin' here, we'll raise too much suspicion."

Murphy made a thoughtful noise in response, and then offered hesitantly, "Might be nice though? To take a break? We've not stopped since… everything. Maybe a rest is what we need?" He met his brother's eyes, and Connor sighed and rubbed his face tiredly as he moved back towards his bed.

"Wouldn't hurt I guess," he accepted reluctantly. Truth be told, this day had been a good one, almost reminiscent of their time in Boston before those Russian mobsters had changed everything. Just hanging out with his brother and their friend, watching movies that he loved so much he knew them all word for word. Being able to share those with their new friend had been fun, even though he'd had to explain them all to her and Murphy had ribbed him senseless over his reams of information. It had felt good, lighter. Like a weight had been lifted. Maybe they _did_ need to take a break.

Murphy fell into sleep quickly after that, but Connor stayed awake long into the night, rolling over plans and scenarios in his mind. He eventually drifted off as the darkness started to soften to grey, but his mind remained on high alert and his fitful sleep offered him little relief.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N So, I sat down this afternoon to plan this one out and it all came out quite easily, so here you go, have another! Thank you again for the reviews, follows and favourites :D**

When Smecker arrived the next morning, Connor had just come back with three cups of coffee, Murphy was shrugging his tea shirt back on and the young woman was still asleep, curled up in a ball. Murphy had painstakingly wriggled out from under her and tucked her back in, figuring that she needed all the rest she could get. Even though she'd come out of her shell a little the day before, she was still painfully thin, her skin was pale and the bruises that they'd found her with still stood out in mottled patterns over her arms and shoulders. Connor shrugged and offered the coffee he'd intended for her to Smecker instead. It took the agent a moment to acknowledge him, because he was staring intently at the girl in the bed, so intently that Connor could almost see the cogs turning in his mind. Coffee in hand, Smecker motioned with his head for the brothers to follow him out to the front of the motel.

As soon as they got outside, Connor turned and railed on Smecker. "Ye know who she is, don't ye?" Murphy looked at his brother in amazement, and Connor continued his assault on the harassed FBI agent. "I saw your face when ye saw her. Ye fuckin' know who she is, admit it."

Smecker sighed and lit his cigarette. "Yes." Murphy opened his mouth to continue where Connor had left off, but Smecker held up a hand to stop him. "Hear me out." He took a deep drag, savouring the nicotine hit, and continued. "There was a case I was working on a few years back, trying to take down a major drug cartel that was the main supplier for most of the east coast. No matter what we did, we couldn't get a handle on them, they were too clever. Loads of small couriers, the type you'd never suspect, and even when we caught some of them in the act none of them would spill anything – whether it was fear or loyalty I don't know. Maybe both. Eventually we got a tip about one of the middle men, the ones that carry the larger splits and distribute it to the smaller carriers. His name is Oliver Wilson."

"Right, but what's this got to do with her?" Murphy gestured back at the motel, clearly confused.

"I'm getting there," Smecker snapped at him, and took a couple more drags before he picked up the story. "When we started looking into this guy, it became more obvious why we couldn't catch any of them – they don't use the kind of people you'd suspect. Wilson was a successful business man, widowed but financially secure, teenage daughter in private school, nice car, big house, the whole deal."

"But why would a guy like that be involved in drugs, if not for the money?" Connor asked, puzzled.

"Blackmail, probably, at least to begin with. They probably did him a favour and then expected payback, or maybe threatened his family. Can't see why he'd risk it otherwise. But then," he shrugged. "Some people are just greedy. Anyway, getting this guy would have been a major coup – would have cut the supply lines for a while until they set up someone new. But while he was under surveillance, he completely cocked up. Tried to go against the cartel, screw them over. We thought they'd kill him, but what actually happened was that his daughter vanished without a trace. What was even stranger was that he never reported it, just carried on like nothing had happened. He got a lot more careful after that, made it damn near impossible to catch him in the act, and without that we'd never have had enough evidence to charge him. Eventually the surveillance was pulled and as far as I know, he's still couriering cocaine for the cartel."

"And you're saying that this girl we found, that's this Wilson guy's daughter?" Connor asked, incredulously.

"Natasha. Yes," Smecker nodded. He sighed, and stubbed out his cigarette with the heel of his boot. "I'll be honest; we all assumed she was dead. These cartel bosses are sick fucks, we just thought that rather than kill Wilson outright they killed his daughter, bring him into line and avoid having to set up new connections. Never in a million years did I think she'd turn up alive somehow."

"Yeah, well she did." Connor said dryly, busy watching Murphy. His twin was pacing up and down the side walk, chewing on his lip. He knew he was about to boil over, and sure enough Murphy suddenly turned on his heel, stalked over and stood right in front of their FBI friend.

"How long?" he yelled, jabbing his finger in Smecker's chest. "A few years ye said? How long has she been missin'?"

"Three years." Smecker admitted, and his obvious guilt was not lost on Connor. Murphy, however, was too angry to notice.

"Three years? Three fuckin' years? With no one lookin' for her?"

"It's not that simple. She was 19 by the time she went missing, so she wasn't a minor. You can't just set up an investigation to find a missing adult, not without something to work off. There was no missing person report, no evidence, no witness accounts… We had nothing to go on."

"It _is_ that fuckin' simple," Murphy hissed, almost nose to nose with Smecker. "Ye didn't see her, didn't see what she was like when we found her, didn't see her fuckin' terrified by nightmares. She needed help, and your lot just left her there. You left her there all alone."

Connor grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him away, sensing that Smecker was about to lose his tenuous grasp on his temper. "Leave it, Murph. It wasn't his decision, and fightin' about it now isn't goin' to help anyone." Murphy settled under his grasp, but Connor could feel the tension in his muscles, could see how tightly coiled he was. He maintained his hold on his brother's arm, even as his brother continued find things to question.

"But this makes no sense," Murphy burst out. "You're saying that this cartel was the one that took her, the bosses. But those guys on that job where we found her were small time."

"I don't know how she ended up there," Smecker admitted. "Could be any number of things, maybe the cartel bosses just got bored of her. But you said they were dealing drugs, that's why you took them out. I'd bet any money that those drugs link back to the cartel. I told you, they utilise small operations. And I suspect that as a result of what happened there the shit will very shortly be hitting the fan – they don't like threats to their business. You two need to be on your guard."

"This is fuckin' crazy," Connor muttered. "We're in way over our heads here."

"Damn right you are," Smecker agreed. "This is a shitstorm and no mistake. We need to be smart here."

"Smart? We need to get her home before she ends up caught in the crossfire," Connor said, and Murphy nodded in agreement. The same name was eating both of them up, a tragic series of events that they weren't going to allow to happen again.

"No!" Smecker said, a little too forcefully, and the twins were startled into silence. Connor recovered first, and as he spoke Murphy began to fight against his grip, leading Connor to grip both his brother's arms tighter.

"What do ye mean no? Ye saw her, Smecker. Ye've seen the state she's in. She needs help." 

"I don't disagree. She needs significant help, and normally we'd be returning her to her family as quickly as we could. In this case though… her father cannot find out she's alive."

"What? Why?!" Connor was feeling increasingly lost, his grip still tight on his struggling brother.

"Because there's no way of guaranteeing he won't just hand her back to the cartel, that's why!" Both twins flinched, and stared at him incredulously. "There was… a suggestion, at the time she went missing. A suggestion that Wilson might have been complicit in her disappearance."

Connor's hands went slack around Murphy's arms as he struggled to take in what Smecker was saying. He felt Murphy slip from his grasp, and mutter something about needing to be sick. Connor didn't take his eyes off Smecker.

"So ye're saying… Ye're saying this guy, her father. You think he _gave_ her to them? He let them do that to her?"

"It's a possibility," Smecker confirmed, and Connor sagged back against the wall. In over their heads? Understatement of the fucking year.

"So, what is it ye're suggesting we do?" he choked the words out, his head swimming.

"I need you two to lay low with her, keep your heads down. Just until I figure out how we proceed with this."

Murphy came up behind Connor, wiping his mouth and taking a swig of coffee. "And what happens when we tell her what we know? What if she _wants_ to go home?"

"Don't tell her." Smecker said it in such a blasé way that it was the last straw for Murphy. He dropped his polystyrene cup on the floor and launched himself at the other man, Connor catching him round the waist only just in time.

"Are ye crazy?" Connor asked, horrified, struggling to keep hold of his brother as Murphy thrashed to get free. "We can't not tell her. She doesn't know a fuckin' thing about herself, how can we keep all that from her?"

"We can't," Murphy growled as he fought his brother's grasp. "_I _won't_._"

Smecker drained the last of his coffee and eyed them in exasperation. "Look, I understand your feelings, I do. But if she finds out all this shit… Well, one it could do a lot more harm than good to her in the state she's in. And two, it could send her right back into the middle of it, and I know neither of you want that." He looked at them, expectantly, and Connor sighed. He pulled Murphy back into a standing position and released him, laying his hand on his brother's chest.

"He's got a point."

"I'm not lyin' to her." Murphy was insistent.

"Maybe there's a middle ground then?" Connor tried, turning back to Smecker. "Maybe we could tell her a bit about herself, but we'll tell her all her family are dead and that she can just stay with us for now." Smecker appeared to mull the suggestion over, while Murphy made a noise of disgust in his throat.

"That's _still_ lyin' Conn."

"Well I don't see another way around it. Either we tell her that her da basically gave her over to those scumbags, and it fucks her up. Or we don't tell her that part, she goes off to find him and ends up back where she started. Or we tell her half the story. Unless you've any bright ideas?" he asked, pointedly.

"Doesn't feel right," Murphy said, stubbornly.

"Not to me either Murph. But it's the best we got. What d'ye think?" he turned back to Smecker.

"It's doable that way," he responded, although he sounded doubtful. "I could give you the information we had on her as part of the file on Wilson. Cut out all the stuff we don't want her to know."

"All the stuff _you_ don't want her to know," Murphy sniped at him. "Keep that _we_ shit out of it." He shook off the hand Connor placed on his shoulder, and moved off to the side.

"Fine. The stuff _I_ don't want her to know. With damn good reason." Connor sensed that Smecker might be about to lose it, and he was right. "Get a fucking grip of yourselves, both of you. You know what? I have put my ass on the line countless times for you two. Countless times. I helped you kill a man for Christ's sake! And I do it because I believe in you, because you're doing good. Is it so much to ask for you to believe in me too? Is it? I don't like lying to her either, believe me I don't, but telling her the truth will put her in danger, I can promise you that. You don't know these people like I do, I have studied them for _years_. They're worse than anything you've ever dealt with. You go in half-cocked, and they will eat you for breakfast. So listen to me, hunker down and let me figure out a plan. OK?"

Murphy had gone back to pacing, but Connor grabbed his friend's shoulder and tried to make peace. "OK then. What's your plan."

Smecker was breathing heavily, and he took a moment to calm himself after his outburst. When he spoke, his voice had taken on a tired edge, one that Connor had never heard before. "You need to find an apartment somewhere. Stay off grid. The car you've got now, that's the same one you had when you did this job?" Connor nodded. "Ditch it. Exchange it for something completely different, and get out of this town sharpish. Go west. Pick somewhere a bit bigger than this, find somewhere to stay and keep _off_ the radar. Get jobs if you need to. Don't tell anyone where you are, not even me. We'll make contact once a week, via payphone. Different one each time."

Connor looked at Smecker, admiration clear on his face. "That's actually a really good plan."

"Thanks," the agent replied acerbically, rolling his eyes. "What were you expecting? It's not my first time you know."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N this was another one that came really easily, I hope you enjoy it! Thank you again for all the feedback, it really means a lot.**

* * *

As Smecker moved back into the motel ahead of them, Connor pulled Murphy aside.

"What the hell is goin' on with you Murph?" he hissed at his brother.

"What do ye mean, goin' on with me? 'M just fine," his twin responded grumpily. "Lyin' to people who trust us, my favourite thing in the world, that is."

"It's more than that Murph. I've never seen you go at Smecker like that before. We always follow his lead on stuff like this, what's so different this time?"

"We have to lie this time? About something fuckin' huge, Connor. Her entire life and we're gonna lie to her about it? It fuckin' stinks." Murphy kicked at a loose stone on the ground, refusing to meet his brother's eyes.

"Murph… Ye know we can't be gettin' attached, right? I know we've agreed to hold on to her while Smecker sorts things out, but after that… We'll be goin' back to how it was before. And we can't tangle other people up in that."

Murphy snorted. "Hold on to her. Ye make her sound like a fuckin' parcel. She's a person. She has feelings."

"'M serious Murph."

"Aye, well so am I. This whole thing is fucked up. Don't ye worry; I'll go along with you and Smecker's little plan, only because I don't want her gettin' hurt. But I'm not gonna be the one to do it. You and Smecker wanna start tellin' her lies, ye can do it yourselves." Connor opened his mouth to speak, but Murphy cut him off. "And don't start on about not gettin' attached. I know the rules; know the reasons behind them just the same as you. Just because I think this is a fuckin' shitty thing to do doesn't mean I've forgotten."

Connor sighed, and patted his twin on the back. "OK. Just wanted to make sure we're clear, that's all."

"Clear as fuckin' glass, brother. That's the problem," Murphy muttered, more to himself than Connor, as Smecker peered out of the motel door.

"Are you two coming or what?"

* * *

The three of them returned to the motel room in silence. Connor could feel Murphy still vibrating beside him, and he sent up a silent prayer that his brother might get a handle on his emotions long enough to put this plan of Smecker's into action. When they got back to the room, their friend was awake, dressed and sitting quietly on her bed. Startled by their entrance, she got up, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room before looking expectantly at Murphy. He took a deep breath, hoping to calm the hum of adrenaline throbbing though him, and grinned half-heartedly at her, ignoring the stab of guilt he felt when she smiled back.

"Alright, lass?" It was Connor who spoke first. She turned to look at him, and nodded. "This is Paul Smecker, who we were telling ye 'bout yesterday." She turned her gaze on the new man, quietly taking stock of him, until he shifted uneasily under her piercing gaze. He remembered Connor saying how it felt like she looked right through you. He felt more like she was looking right into him. Connor cleared his throat uncomfortably. "He reckons he knows who ye are lass."

She opened her mouth to say something in response, but her throat was suddenly tight and she swayed a little where she stood. Murphy was behind her in an instant, a supporting hand on her hip and the other round her shoulder. "S'alright lass. What say we do this over breakfast, aye?" She nodded dumbly, and they headed out to the diner they'd eaten in the day before.

When they got there, they ended up in same booth they'd sat in the previous day, although this time Murphy slid in beside her without a second thought, and Smecker took the seat beside Connor. She glanced around the diner, marvelling at actually being somewhere that felt familiar, even if she'd only visited it once before. Familiarity was a novelty. She sat still and quiet as breakfast was ordered, once again happy to eat whatever the brothers ordered. It wasn't as if she had preferences to remember anyway, she thought bitterly. She let out a deep, shuddering breath she hadn't realised she was holding, and she felt Murphy reach out and take her hand under the table. She looked down in surprise as Murphy gave her fingers a small squeeze of reassurance with his own, sending a lovely warm sensation up her arm, and she instantly felt better. It was ok with them, she reminded herself. They didn't seem to care that her mind was an empty shell, they still treated her just the same as they did everyone else.

Then realisation dawned on her. If this Smecker man knew who she was, he must also know about her family, and where they were. She presumed that she'd go home with them now, and suddenly she wasn't sure if that was what she wanted. The thought of leaving these brothers, men that she'd known all of three days, filled her with a disquiet she couldn't quite explain.

"So what happens now?" she asked, quietly.

"What do ye mean, what happens?" Connor asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

She shrugged. "Well, if you know who I am then you must know where my family is too? I guess I'll be leaving? Where am I going?" She looked so sad and lost that Murphy squeezed her hand again, tighter this time, glaring expectantly at his brother and Smecker as he did so.

Connor faltered, finding that despite his agreement with Smecker's plan, he couldn't actually bring himself to tell the lie they'd agreed on. He settled for platitudes instead. "Nowhere, lass, nowhere. Not unless ye want to, anyhow."

Sensing that neither brother was going to be the one to spin the story, Smecker spoke up. "Unfortunately, there isn't really any family for you to go back to. The last of them passed away while you were missing." He was aware that Murphy was staring daggers at him, horrified at his bluntness, but Smecker continued on regardless. He knew that if he didn't then one of the brothers, most likely Murphy, was going to break and tell her the truth, and he couldn't allow that to happen. He was almost positive he wouldn't be able to contain the fallout if it did. "What we do know is that your name is Natasha Wilson. You grew up in a small town, only child. You're 22. You went to private school, aced pretty much everything. You were about to move away to college when you went missing."

She stared at him blankly, trying to process the information he was giving her. Information about her, only it didn't feel like it. It felt like he was describing someone else's life, because certainly none of it sounded at all familiar. She focused on the part she'd thought about most. He knew her name. Her name. She did have one, after all that.

"Natasha?" she said, trying it out for herself. She repeated it a few times, sounding out the syllables and placing the emphasis in different places in the word. Nothing. She had thought that perhaps it would resonate with her somehow, maybe even spark a memory, but instead she felt nothing. It was no different to any other word she might say. She huffed in disappointment and slumped back in her seat. Murphy quirked an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged in response to his unvoiced question. "I don't know. I guess I thought that maybe… maybe I'd remember it being mine, once I knew what it was. But there's nothing. It doesn't feel any different."

"Well… maybe that's not the name ye used?" he suggested, trying to reassure her. "Maybe ye had a nickname instead? Loads of ways to shorten a name like that."

"Maybe," she said, quiet and disheartened. "Doesn't make much difference. Either way, I don't remember it."

"'M sure it will come back to ye, lass. Once people start callin' ye by your name, 'm sure it'll start to feel like it's yours again. Natasha." He said her name purposefully, as if he thought that his use of it would spark something her own would not. She smiled at him, grateful for his efforts, but still incredibly frustrated. He squeezed her hand again, and once again she felt that lovely comforting warmth creep up her arm. She squeezed back this time, the tiniest bit, and watched with interest as his arm tensed slightly, a muscle in his cheek tightened and then he shifted a little in his seat.

"So, are we going to stay here then? In the motel?" she asked, curiously. She actually didn't mind the motel too much, but she got the impression that the brothers didn't tend to stick around in places very long.

"Not exactly," Connor replied, scratched the back of his neck. "We're gonna head off somewhere else and then settle down a bit, get somewhere a bit more permanent to stay for a while." She must have looked surprised, because he chuckled and added, "Well, ye don't strike me as the on-the-road type lass. Besides," his tone turned serious again. "Need to make sure those guys we picked ye up from don't have anyone on our tail. Do a bit of duckin' and weavin' and then let ourselves blend in somewhere."

She nodded her agreement. "OK. Today?"

"Aye," Murphy answered this time. "Just need to sort a new car, then pack up and get on the road."

The waitress arrived with their food, cutting their conversation short, and she dug into the pancakes the boys had ordered eagerly. She hadn't realised how hungry she was. As the first forkful hit her tongue, she revelled in the sweet taste and found a groaning sound of pleasure making its way up her throat. Connor burst out laughing.

"I think it's fair to say ye like pancakes lass," he chuckled, winking at her.

* * *

Two hours later and Smecker had left, having had a last whispered conversation with the brothers about how best to carry out their relocation, Connor had gone to trade in the car and Murphy and Natasha had packed their meagre belongings while they waited for him to return. She sat cross-legged on her bed, twisting her hands in her lap, while he was restless, wandering around the room and fiddling with various things. Every so often he'd perch on the edge of the other bed, chewing at his thumbnail, but moments later he'd be up and moving again.

She'd noticed this difference between the twins; Murphy seemed to move and fidget constantly while Connor was almost the exact opposite, still and watchful. She'd also observed that Murphy became more agitated and mobile when he was thinking, and she wondered what it was that occupied his mind to cause him to pace around the room in such a manner. She reminded herself how very little she actually knew about them, how she still had no idea why they'd even been in that room to find her. She pondered over their strange matching tattoos and the nomadic lifestyle they had clearly been living up until they found her, the whispered conversations in a variety of languages she didn't understand and the way that they and Smecker had deliberately moved out of her earshot for that last conversation before the older man had left. And Smecker himself. He must be law enforcement, she theorised. He had to be, to have all that information. But the twins had been concerned about avoiding the police that first night in that room, so why would they involve them now? It didn't make sense. She shook her head. It didn't matter. They had saved her, they were protecting her now. That was what mattered.

Murphy's mind was a whirlwind as he paced. His thoughts were all over the place, and he couldn't seem to pin any of them down long enough to give them the attention they required. They all seemed to come back to her anyway. _Natasha. Her name is Natasha._ Smecker. _We lied to her._ The cartel. _She's in danger._ Oliver Wilson. _Her father did this to her_. We have to find somewhere and settle down. _Settle down with her._ Don't get attached. _Holding her hand, squeezing it gently and the frisson of electricity he'd felt when she'd squeezed back._ Connor, shouting about how bringing Rocco in had been his idea. _Taking Natasha with us was my idea too._ Rocco. Can't let it happen again. _A sudden image of her lying on a dirty floor, bleeding out with a bullet in her chest. Because of him. Just like Rocco._

He let out a growl of frustration and slammed the open palm of his hand against the wall. He noticed her flinch out of the corner of his eye, and felt that stab of guilt again. _We lied to her._ He moved across the room and settled on the bed next to her.

"Sorry, lass. Natasha," he corrected himself. He grinned at her. "Need to remember ye've actually got a name now, eh?"

She shrugged, her head still bowed. "I don't mind," she said softly.

"Aye, well I do. All this time ye couldn't remember it, and know we know what it is I'm gonna make damn sure to use it. Might not be much, but it's a start."

She looked up at him, blue eyes meeting his. He could have sworn he felt his heartbeat quicken, just a touch. "Thank you," she said, sincerely.

"No need for that, s'just a name after all," he shrugged.

"Not just for that," she responded. "For… everything. For not treating me like I'm crazy."

"Well, you're not crazy," he replied, bemusedly. ""Ye've had some shit done to ye, that's clear enough, but ye're not crazy. Just a bit…"

"Broken?" she interrupted, looking back down at her hands.

"No," he said sharply. "Definitely not that. Damaged, maybe. Hurt. But not crazy and definitely not broken. I mean Christ, to come through all that, whatever it was. To come through it all and still be ok? I'd say that makes you strong. Really strong."

She seemed to consider his words for a moment. "Strong? I like that."

"Well, s'true," he insisted. "That's how I see you."

She met his eyes again, and this time his heartbeat definitely quickened. She held his face in her gaze, unmoving, and he took her in: her expressive blue eyes that seemed to say more than her mouth ever did, the loose tendrils of her dark hair curling over her face, the smattering of freckles over her nose, the spot in her cheek he knew would dimple when she smiled, her lips… He pulled his eyes away, deliberately broke the moment. He couldn't do this.

"C'mon. Let's haul this stuff outside and wait for Connor, eh?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you again for all the feedback, you lovely people. I'm glad you're all enjoying it :D**

* * *

They had been driving for about three hours when Connor pulled off the highway. Natasha had hoped that it was a sign that they might have reached their destination, wherever that might be, but it turned out they were just stopping for gas.

She had picked up that something was off between the brothers fairly quickly, when what had started off as a disagreement over the radio station had turned into a full blown argument in at least three languages and some very unfriendly jostling for good measure. She'd actually thought at one particular point, after a mistimed jab from Murphy, that Connor was about to drive them off the road. It had led to it being an awkward journey so far, with her sitting hunched in the back seat desperately willing one of them to speak just to break the silence, and then wishing she hadn't as soon as they did. Connor, for his part, had so far been the one to talk first; each time seeming almost pleading as he made a quip or an off the cuff comment to his brother, only to slip quickly back into silence when Murphy would either studiously ignore him or bite out a vicious retort.

She wondered if this was somehow out of character for him: each time Connor reached out he seemed to genuinely expect Murphy to respond in kind instead of stubbornly refusing to make peace. She found his behaviour surprising; all of the twins' previous disagreements had seemed to be quickly resolved without too much trouble, a quick tussle or a verbal spar and then they would laugh and grin at each other and all would be well. Now Murphy definitely appeared to be holding a grudge about something. She couldn't begin to imagine what it might be. She supposed it was probably none of her business, actually.

"Will we be driving much longer, do you think?" she asked Murphy hesitantly as they watched Connor walk into the small store to pay for the gas and try to pick them up something to eat. She honestly wasn't sure how he'd respond, given his attitude towards Connor and the scowl on his face. It seemed to her that Murphy's ire was focussed directly at his brother, but she'd learned you could never be too sure about these things. She'd been caught off guard on more than one occasion, only to find herself being used as a handy outlet for the aggression of one man or another. She was pleased then, when his face softened a little as he answered her.

"Haven't a clue to be honest with ye," Murphy said, twisting round to face her, resting his elbow on the back of the seat. "Connor's the one that makes the plans really. Though, I'm not sure he really knows where we're goin' either. We normally just drive until we find somewhere that fits the bill."

"And then?"

"Probably find a motel like last time. It'll be too late to do anythin' else today. And then tomorrow we'll go lookin' for an apartment, and me and Conn will see about findin' jobs."

"What sort of job?"

"Full of questions today, aren't ye?" he teased, grinning broadly at her. She shrugged, smiling back as something low in her stomach fluttered strangely. She twisted her hands in her lap, trying to settle it. Murphy carried on talking, oblivious. "I dunno. Depends what's available really, we can do most stuff."

She nodded thoughtfully, and then asked the question that had really been bothering her. "Is… is everything ok? With you and Connor?"

A shadow seemed to cross his face, and he looked at her strangely. "How do ye mean?"

"You seem mad at him. Is it me, did he not want me to come?" She looked down at her hands, staring intently at her entwined fingers. "I'm sure your friend can find somewhere else for me to go. I don't want to cause any trouble between you." He let out a quiet sigh and she swallowed heavily, anxiously anticipating the answer she dreaded.

Instead, he leaned into the back of the car and gently slipped his fingers under her chin, pulling her face up to look him in the eyes. She met his gaze nervously, taking in the deep blue of his irises and the long dark lashes surrounding them. She thought that they were beautiful, and then she felt that funny wobble in her stomach again. She dropped her gaze, feeling a flash of heat in her cheeks.

"Hey, look at me Tash," he said softly, fingers pinching gently on her chin. She met his eyes again hesitantly, chewing at her lip. "None of that, right?" he continued, his voice still soft and gentle, and she nodded slowly in response, still drawn into his eyes. "Me and Conn are just havin' a bit of a difference of opinion is all. Nothin' to do with ye comin' along with us, we're both in agreement about that part. Ye're stuck with us, I'm afraid," he joked with a smirk, and she relaxed a little in relief. He dropped his fingers then, and she missed them instantly, even though the skin of her chin still tingled as if he hadn't moved at all. He smiled at her, a sweet and reassuring smile rather than his usual grin, and said, "Don't worry, ok? Me and Conn, we help people. We'll make sure ye're ok."

"OK," she responded, smiling back. He turned back round in his seat, eyes searching for Connor through the window of the store and finding him settling up at the cash register and making his way out of the door. She settled back in her seat, happy to sit in comfortable silence now her concerns had been addressed, before remembering something else she'd been curious about while they'd been driving. She leaned forward to get his attention again. "Murphy?" He made a questioning noise in response, turning to look at her again. "Why does Connor do all the driving?"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, ye notice everythin', eh?" he huffed at her, looking more than a little embarrassed that she'd spotted the discrepancy, and she nodded proudly, pleased that he'd noticed.

"Lord's name, Murph," Connor's voice reprimanded him through the open window, and Murphy snorted and muttered a vaguely apologetic prayer. Connor slid back into his seat and dug in the bag he'd carried out of the store, dropping a pre-packed sandwich in brother's lap and tossing another into the back seat beside Natasha, receiving murmurs of gratitude in response. She opened hers eagerly, hoping to quell the odd feeling in her stomach, and Connor offered her a tired smile. "Connor does all the driving," he explained "because airy-fairy Murph here couldn't pass the fuckin' test. Brain all over the place. What was it the instructor said, Murph? Head in the clouds," he finished with a chuckle.

Murphy glared at him, picking at the sandwich container in his lap. "Well he was a fuckin' useless instructor anyway."

"Taught me just fine though, didn't he?" Connor smirked, unpacking his own sandwich and taking a bite before staring at it in disgust. "Vile things. Best they had though."

"Ye know how far we've still to go?" Murphy asked, changing the subject.

"Dunno, couple of hours maybe? Map in the store there shows we're in the middle of fuckin' nowhere right now. We need somewhere bigger."

"Right."

Connor sighed and started the car, pulling off the forecourt and back towards the highway. Back to one word answers. He had no idea how long Murphy intended to keep this up, but he hoped it would be over soon. It was unnerving, Murphy had never managed to stay mad at him for longer than a couple of hours before, his anger tending to come swiftly and then leave again just as quick. This new attitude was entirely new and, not only did Connor not like it at all, he had no clue how to deal with it either.

He knew what the problem was, of course. Murphy was still adamant that they'd done the wrong thing in lying to the girl, was seething at Connor for agreeing with Smecker rather than him. That part Connor could just about understand. What he found completely baffling was Murphy's insistence in drawing the argument out rather than just accepting the decision and moving on. Murphy always picked holes in the plans, always found problems where they didn't need to be found, but when it came down to it he _always_ accepted Connor's decisions and went along with them willingly. Murphy trusted his judgement, always had. Until now.

There was something about this girl. That was the crux of it. There was something about this girl that had Murphy intrigued, had him actively arguing against Connor for the first time in forever. Connor could agree that she was an interesting enigma, this girl who'd shown up out of the blue with her lost memory and some weird fucked up history that no one actually knew the full truth of. He accepted they had to keep her close; to protect her as the Lord would want. It was more than that with Murphy though. He'd deny it of course, say he was just righteously angry at what had happened to her, but Connor had seen the way they behaved towards each other.

He'd caught them looking at each other more than once, as if each was trying to figure the other out. He'd seen how Natasha looked to Murphy for reassurance, how she trusted him implicitly even after such a short time. He'd seen how Murphy had frantically tried to wake her during her nightmare, the tender way he'd held her afterwards. He had seen them in the car of course, how they'd started talking almost as soon as he'd finished filling the car with gas and started towards the store to pay. He'd watched Murphy soften when he spoke to her, seen how he'd snaked his hand out to cup her chin, catch her gaze and talk to her intently, noticed how she had found whatever his brother had said reassuring and relaxed into her seat. He had no idea what they might have been talking about, but whatever it was he doubted it was quite as telling as the body language between them.

_Don't get attached._ Connor snorted. He rather suspected it might be a bit late for that.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time that they finally found somewhere that Connor was satisfied met his internal list of criteria, Murphy was right and it was far too late to do anything other than find a cheap motel and bed down for the night. The clerk at the desk had persistently tried to get them to take two rooms, and when he'd finally backed down under the glare of twin Irish stares he'd given them all a strange look that Natasha hadn't really understood. As the man had shuffled off to get them a key, she'd asked Murphy to explain it but he'd just shrugged and muttered something about nosy perverts.

The room was at least a bit better kitted out than their previous one, with a small table and chairs just inside the door and a lumpy sofa on the far side of the room. She tried to insist on taking the sofa herself, given that Connor had just spent all day driving and Murphy had spent the previous two nights on a crummy motel floor, but they would hear none of it.

She slipped into the bathroom to change, quickly wiggling out of her clothes and shrugging on the t-shirt Murphy had lent to her that first night. It didn't hold his scent quite as strongly as it had originally, but she still found it comforting to sleep wrapped in its soft folds. She was about to step back into the room, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and paused. She peered at her reflection, the face staring back at her not really looking familiar but hers all the same. It didn't look the same as it had before the twins had found her or even the same as it had in the other motel. She couldn't put her finger on it, not as pinched and drawn maybe, eyes brighter, more colour in her cheeks. She smiled a little, testing how it looked, liking it. She grinned then, just because, and she liked that more. _Happy_, she thought, turning back to the door. _I almost look happy_.

Murphy took the sofa, pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it in a crumpled heap before sitting down gingerly on one end with his jeans still on. He bounced a couple of times, as if to check it wasn't going to disintegrate beneath his weight and, once he was happy that he'd probably be safe for the night, tugged off his boots and folded his pea coat into a makeshift pillow.

He looked up just in time to see Natasha emerge from the bathroom and make her way to the bed nearest to him, Connor moving past her to take his turn. She was wearing his shirt again, he noticed. If anything, it looked better than it had the first time. She'd still been traumatized then, black circles under her eyes, barely looking at him let alone talking. Now her face had a bit more life to it, her eyes even sparkled a little. Especially when she spoke to him, he liked to think. His eyes trailed down her slender legs and he found his mind wandering, thinking of other reasons she might wear his shirt, thinking of those legs wrapped round him. _She's _still_ traumatized you prick, that doesn't change in a few days._ He shifted awkwardly where he sat, his jeans suddenly uncomfortably tight.

Seemingly oblivious, she took the folded blanket that was sitting on the end of her bed and held it out to him apologetically, wanting to offer again to sleep on the sofa herself but knowing it was pointless. He offered her a quiet thank you, unfolding the blanket and shaking it out, and she nodded in response, stepping back towards her bed before looking back at him over her shoulder. He hadn't moved, still sitting on one end of the sofa with the blanket spread over his knees, watching her intently with darkened eyes. She felt that stirring again, low down in her stomach, and her skin seemed almost to tingle under his gaze. She froze, torn between wanting to run away from the intensity of his stare and wanting to move closer and explore that tingling sensation further. As if he was entirely aware of her dilemma, Murphy acted first.

"G'night Tash," he said softly, almost regretfully, moving to lie down without taking his eyes off her.

"Night," she whispered back, pulling her gaze away and slipping into bed. She could still feel her eyes on her as she curled into a ball with her back to him, burying her face in his shirt and breathing him in as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Murphy was woken by the sound of her muffled crying a few hours later. It took him a moment to get his bearings, to remember the drive of the day before and that the lumpy sofa was to blame for his aching back and the crick in his neck. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand as he sat up, trying to pick her out as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light.

She had her back to him, but he could just make out the curve of her shoulder as she bent in on herself. He padded across to her bed and reached out to touch her shoulder gently. She jumped at the unexpected contact, taking a juddering breath before turning her tear stained face to his.

"Ye ok? Nightmare again?"

She shook her head, taking another breath. He cupped her cheek with his left hand, using the thumb of his right to wipe the tears from her face. She leaned into the touch, almost instinctively, and closed her eyes.

_Fuck it._ Impulsively, he took her hand and pulled her out of the bed. He stuck his feet into his boots and then grabbed his coat from where it still lay folded on the sofa, before turning back to her and wrapping it round her shoulders.

"C'mon. Stick your shoes on."

She looked down at her bare legs and feet, looking a little confused, but slipped her arms into his coat and then did as he'd said and pulled her sneakers on before following him to the door. "Where are we going?"

"A walk," he grinned at her, lacing his fingers through hers and pulling her out into the corridor. The night air hit him with a blast as they stepped outside, and he realised he hadn't even put his shirt on. "Fine pair we are, eh?" he joked. "Ye've no trousers on and I'm half naked. People will talk."

She nodded and gave a little quirk of her lip, and he tightened his grip on her hand a little. They walked for a while in silence before he spoke again. "So, ye wanna talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Whatever it was that had ye cryin' in the night."

"It was nothing," she sighed quietly, pulling his coat tighter around herself.

"Sure didn't seem it," he pushed, unconvinced.

"Just a dream, that's all. Silly."

"Ye said it wasn't a dream when I asked."

"I said it wasn't a nightmare," she teased, poking her tongue out and grinning despite herself.

He rolled his eyes at her and nudged her shoulder, "Oh fine, picky picky. So what was it, your dream?"

She took a while to answer, so long that he was sure she wasn't going to. "It was before, I think. Before he took me. I don't know really. I think it's memories trying to surface, but I never remember them after."

He looked confused. "But aren't those good dreams?"

She shrugged, still staring out into the darkness. "It's hard to explain."

"Try me."

"Well, most of the time, I don't have anything to miss. What I had, before you found me? That's all I knew. But after those dreams, the dreams about before, it's almost like I remember. I don't remember anything specific, but it's like I can feel it, like I can remember feeling happy, or sad, or excited. And so when I wake up, I miss it. I miss feeling." She looked at him then, and she looked close to tears again. "I know it sounds stupid."

"Not stupid at all. I can't… I can't even imagine it." He tried. Tried to imagine not remembering anything about himself, about his life. Not remembering _Connor_. It was a terrifying thought. He met her eyes. "Those are evil fuckers that did this to you."

"I guess," she said thoughtfully, scraping her feet against the sidewalk. "Can I ask you something?"

"Course ye can."

"When you found me, you and Connor. Why were you even there?"

He paled. He hadn't been expecting that, although he supposed he probably should have. _Ye notice everythin'._ "I…," he started, unsure of how to explain it to her in a way that wouldn't freak her out. "Those men that had ye, they were evil men."

"And you and Connor, you… You kill evil men?"

She was looking decidedly _un_-freaked out, he noted. He probably shouldn't have been surprised at that either. "Aye, that's about it. That's why we were there. Findin' ye there, we didn't plan on that. Happy accident, eh?"

She grinned. "Aye," she agreed, trying the word out and liking the way it felt on her tongue. "Have you always done it?"

"No, it's been a year or so. We had a bit of a run in with some Russians, set the whole thing off. Took 'em out with a toilet."

"A toilet?" she said incredulously. "Sounds like an interesting story?"

"Aye," he laughed, before sobering a little. "Wasn't funny at the time right enough. Bastards chained Connor to the thing, dragged me outside to shoot me. Course, they hadn't counted on Connor rippin' it outta the ground." Her eyes widened a little and he chuckled, enjoying her interest in the story. "Aye. Daft bugger hauled the thing up, dropped it over the fire escape onto the one guy, and then jumped off. He could've been dead. Eejit."

"And what about the other guy?"

"I beat him over the head with the lid. And then hauled me brother's arse to the hospital. That night though, we had a dream, we both did. A message from God that we had a job to do. And so that's what we've been doin' ever since, destroyin' evil."

"I'm glad," she said, and he gave her a questioning look. "I'm glad you had that dream," she explained. "Because that's how you ended up finding me. And I'm glad it was you that found me."

He let go of her hand and slipped his arm round her, pulling her close and pressing his lips into her hair. "Me too, Tash. Me too."

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**A/N: So, I didn't intend to write this, it was actually supposed to be a two paragraph segue into the next day but then Murphy decided he was taking her for a walk so... Anyway, I hope you liked it and it wasn't too exposition heavy. The next one's half written so hopefully shouldn't be too long.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Once again a huge thank you for the reviews and alerts/favourites. Especially thank you to kaoscraze for giving me a shout out the other day. If any of you are Caryl fans you should go and read her fic Damaged in the TWD section, it's a great story :D **

**Here's the next bit. Enjoy :D**

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It was nearly light when they got back to the motel, moving apart reluctantly as they stepped inside and both missing the closeness almost immediately.

When they got back to their room, Connor was pacing up and down in a manner more suited to his brother. They were barely through the door when he stalked over to them, opening his mouth to let rip before being cut off with a fierce look from his twin. Natasha had shrunk back against the wall, looking at Murphy anxiously, and he smiled at her in reassurance, jerking his head towards the bathroom. She nodded in response, quickly grabbing some clean clothes and disappearing under Connor's impatient glare. As soon as they heard the lock slide on the door, he exploded at his twin.

"Where the FUCK have ye been?"

"Nowhere. Just a walk," Murphy said, his voice calm but with a slight tinge of childish petulance.

"A walk? A fuckin' _walk_?" Connor looked incredulous.

"Aye, a walk. Ye know, where ye go outside and put one foot in front of the other?"

"Don't get fuckin' smart, Murph. It's the middle of the fuckin' night. I was worried fuckin' sick when I woke up and the two of ye were gone. Where the fuck were ye walkin' at this time?"

"Nowhere. Just went out for the air." His tone softened, and he offered his hand to his brother in apology. "'M sorry, Conn. I didn't mean to worry ye. I just didn't expect ye to wake up."

"Of course I woke up, ye fuckin' imbecile. Jesus fuckin' Christ." He didn't go as far as admitting to his twin that he never slept properly these days; that since the day he'd almost lost his brother he remained in a strange semi-aware state, listening for the sound of Murphy breathing. There were some things Murphy didn't need to know.

"Lord's name," Murphy quipped, and Connor just rolled his eyes in response. Murphy sighed. "Look, I said I was sorry, alright? Tash just had a bad dream, took her to walk it off. I'll leave ye a note or somethin' next time, right?"

"Fuckin' next time?" Connor huffed. _Fuckin' Tash now, is it?_ Murphy shrugged with a grin, and moved to find a clean shirt among his things, the matter dealt with as far as he was concerned. Connor stewed over it longer, unable to quell the panic he was still feeling or the stab of concern at his brother's reckless behaviour.

Natasha emerged from the bathroom a short while later, peering cautiously round the door first as if to check it was safe to come out. Under Murphy's insistent glare, Connor muttered an apology for scaring her and then they headed out for breakfast.

They found a diner a short way down the street. It was larger than the one they'd used in the previous town but, aside from a few men drinking coffee at the counter, they were the only customers. The woman behind the counter, a plump, middle aged woman with a kindly face and flecks of grey in her hair, greeted them cheerily as they came in. The twins responded in kind, while Natasha just smiled, still not comfortable talking to anyone other than Murphy and Connor. She and Murphy sat down at the first table they came to, Connor grabbing a newspaper from the rack and joining them as he flicked through to get to the ads.

As Connor ran his finger down the page, pausing each time he reached something of interest, the woman from the counter, bustled over to take their order. Kate, her name tag said, peered over Connor's shoulder as she flicked her pad open.

"Looking for anything in particular?"

"Job, apartment, a plate of pancakes. Not necessarily in that order," Connor replied with a grin, eyes still glued to the paper in front of him.

"Ah, thought you people must be new in town," she nodded. Murphy exchanged a worried look with Connor. _So much for somewhere bigger._ Connor shrugged. _It's just one woman._ She picked up on their silent discussion, and laughed it off. "Oh, don't you worry. I know everyone, that's all, comes with the territory." Connor seemed happy enough with the explanation, but Murphy remained tense, glancing across at Natasha who seemed to be watching his reaction. Kate was still talking, he realised. "Well, if you're looking for somewhere to stay, my sister's husband manages a couple of apartment of buildings a couple of blocks over. I can give him a call if you like. The places you get in those ads are always terrible."

"That'd be grand, if it's no trouble," Connor answered agreeably. "Any tips on where we should go looking for work too?"

"Well, it depends what you're looking for," Kate shrugged. "There's a few factories on the outskirts of town, a canning plant too. They're probably your best bet if you're looking for somewhere fast. What about you?" she asked, turning her attention to Natasha for the first time. Natasha looked at her blankly. Ignoring the lack of response, Kate carried on. "You ever waited tables before honey? We're always looking for people here."

Panic bubbled in her stomach. She had no idea if she had or not, and more than that she wasn't sure how she should respond. They hadn't discussed this possibility. "I…well…I just…," Natasha stumbled over her answer and looked at the twins imploringly.

"Our friend here's had a few issues with memory lately, had a bit of a bump to the head," Connor quickly interjected. "But she's a real quick learner, and I'm sure with your expert assistance, she'll learn the ropes in no time." There was that dazzling grin again, the one he seemed to turn on for waitresses. Kate didn't blush like the waitress at the other diner though, merely gave a slight roll of her eyes and carried on speaking to Natasha as if Connor hadn't said a word.

"Well, how about you hang about after you've eaten, and we'll see how you get on? And your boys here," she jerked her thumb at them, "can find themselves some work and sort out a place to stay?" Natasha didn't respond, just met Murphy's eyes uncertainly.

Connor answered before either of them had chance to. "That sounds like a grand idea, lass," he nodded in agreement, folding the newspaper up and laying it on an adjacent table.

Murphy frowned. "I dunno about that," he objected. "We don't usually leave her by herself, on account of her…accident."

Kate shot him a withering look. "She's not going to shatter into pieces the minute you take your eyes off her. She'll be just fine." She lifted her pad again, held the pencil ready. "Pancakes, was it? And coffee?" Before they had a chance to respond, she'd turned her back and marched back into the kitchen. Natasha stared after her, bewildered by what had just happened. She hadn't thought her getting a job was on the agenda and, although she wasn't necessarily averse to the idea, she wasn't sure how she was supposed to go about a normal life with no memory.

As soon as Kate was out of earshot, Murphy turned on his brother. "What the hell are ye thinking?" he hissed. "Yesterday she didn't even know her own bloody name and now ye think we should just leave her to get on with it?"

"Oh, give me some credit Murphy. And her, for that matter!" Connor exclaimed, gesturing at Natasha. "Ye said yourself, she notices everything. She could do that job standin' on her head, she'll be just fine."

"And what if something happens and we're not here to protect her?"

"Ye really think she's at _more_ risk workin' as a waitress surrounded by people than she would be sittin' home alone everyday? And do ye really think she'd want that? She'd be bored senseless after the first day, clever girl like that." She felt a swell of pride at his words, thrilled at his compliment even though she knew it hadn't been for her benefit.

Murphy turned his attention to Natasha, who was sitting tensed, gripping the edge of her seat with both hands. "Ye don't have to if you don't want to, ye know that right?"

"It's fine," she managed to force out, her throat tight. She took a breath to clear it before continuing. "Maybe Connor's right? It _would_ be better than just sitting in while you're working. And maybe I should get used to being around people again."

"Only if ye're sure," he checked, still concerned. She gave a small smile and a nod in response, and Murphy sighed. "Okay. But ye let us know if it's too much, right?" She nodded again, and he sat back in his seat. "I still don't like it," he insisted stubbornly to his brother.

"No one asked ye to fuckin' like it," Connor muttered, more to himself than Murphy.

After they'd eaten, Kate gave them directions to the apartment building where they'd find her brother-in-law, and how to get out to the factories from there. Connor thanked her with a broad grin and sauntered out to the car, but Murphy was clearly still not happy. He made Natasha promise repeatedly not to leave the diner until Kate lost her temper and chased him outside with her sweeping brush.

They made quick work of their tasks, meeting Robert outside the building and agreeing to take the apartment after a cursory glance round it. The main living area was small but contained a large, overstuffed sofa and a television set, along with a battered table and chairs alongside the small kitchenette. There were two bedrooms, one with twin beds and the other with a larger double bed, enough space for all three of them to sleep comfortably. It was a step up from endless motel rooms, and from their loft in Boston for that matter, and that was good enough for them.

They went out to the factories from there, trailing around a few of them unsuccessfully until the foreman at the canning plant agreed to give them a trial run if they came back the next day. Satisfied, they turned back towards town, Connor making a brief stop when he spotted a phone box on the edge of the road.

"Hang on. Need to call Smecker." He jumped out of the car and jogged across to the phone box, dialling the number. Smecker picked up almost immediately, sounding almost surprised to hear from them so quickly.

"Just to let ye know we're here ok. Stickin' to the plan."

"Good, good. Everything still ok with your friend?"

"Aye, she's fine. Seems to be copin' ok, openin' up a bit more. How are things comin' along on your end?"

"Nothin' concrete yet. I've got my assistant looking through the case notes, trying to find something we can use to justify putting Wilson under surveillance." Connor could hear papers shuffling as Smecker spoke.

"Your _assistant_? Isn't that a bit risky?"

"Don't worry, she's a smart cookie. Picked her out myself. If there's a way round this, she'll find it, but it'll take some time. When we've got a better idea of his movements, that's when you two come in."

"And how long is that gonna take?" Connor asked, impatiently. He just wanted to get this job over and done with, leave this girl behind before Murphy got himself in any deeper.

"I don't know. You two do realise that I have _actual_ cases to be working you know? I'll be no fucking good to you if I don't at least keep up a semblance of doing my job."

Connor sighed. Smecker had a point. "Aye, sorry. Just hope your assistant can be trusted."

They said their goodbyes, and Connor hung up the phone, resting his forehead against the side of the booth for a moment before returning to the car.

"Looks like we're in this one for the long-haul, brother," he sighed, searching for his cigarettes and offering one to his brother before lighting his own.

Murphy shrugged, taking a drag on his cigarette before speaking. "'S what I thought anyway."

"Aren't ye bothered though, at the thought of hangin' round one place too long?"

His twin shrugged again. "Not really. As long as we keep our heads down there's no real risk, right?"

"Aye, well we need to be careful. No more midnight jaunts with the lass just because ye fancy her."

"It's not like that," Murphy protested. _Liar._

"Well, what's it like then? Help me out here, because it looks to me like ye've had your head turned by a pretty face and now ye're not fuckin' thinkin' straight."

"My thinkin's just fine, Conn. 'M just tryin' to help the girl out, that's all."

"Aye, well as long as that's all it is." Connor leaned over and gripped his brother's shoulder, meeting his eyes in an attempt to convey his sincerity. "I don't want ye getting' hurt, Murph. We'll be leavin' her behind soon enough, an' that's the best thing _for her_. Ye know that, right?"

"Aye," Murphy muttered, pulling away from his brother's hand and ignoring the stab in his gut at the thought of never seeing Natasha again.


	12. Chapter 12

**So this was another one that didn't really come out as intended. Stuff was actually supposed to happen, and it was supposed to be from Natasha's POV because I thought we'd lost that a bit, but Murphy wanted to talk and then he got all existential, so blah.**

**I'm not really sure how well it turned out, but it at least moves the development on a little, so I hope you like it :-)**

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Easing the door to Natasha's bedroom closed behind him, Murphy wandered through to the kitchen as he rubbed his hand wearily across his face. He contemplated making coffee and then grabbed a beer from the fridge instead, not even caring that it was way far too early to even be thinking about drinking. He sat down at the table heavily, resting his elbow on the surface and letting his head fall onto his hand.

They'd been in the apartment for about four weeks now. Murphy found he was enjoying the domesticity more than he had expected; after over a year on the road and an endless run of motel rooms, having somewhere to call home—even temporarily—was a welcome change. Not only that, he revelled in the return to the routine and monotony of a proper job. He hadn't really realised he missed that aspect of his old life, having been so focused on their calling, but he'd found stepping back into a similar role oddly comforting.

He knew Connor didn't feel the same. His brother was already restless, eager to get back to their mission. Murphy heard him each time he called Smecker, impatiently asking how much longer they could expect to be waiting and urging him to hurry things up. Natasha had noticed it too, asked him again if he was sure Connor didn't mind her being around. He'd had words with Connor after that, insisted he should be nicer to her. He'd coined it in terms of making sure the job went smoothly, but really he'd just hated that she was so upset about it. He suspected Connor knew that too. He didn't care though, because three days later he'd come home after a double shift and she'd excitedly told him that Connor had spent the afternoon teaching her how to shoot. He'd met his brother eyes, and given him a nod of thanks. Things had been better between them since then, and he was glad. He hated fighting with Connor, everything just felt…wrong when they weren't on the same wavelength.

Things with Natasha were more complicated; although she'd opened up to both of them, she was still being tormented by dreams. He wasn't sure how, but even in separate rooms he always heard her when she was dreaming. The dreams seemed to have two distinct types; before and after, that's what she called them so those were the words that he used too. He always knew which it was; while he found her awake and crying when she'd had before dreams, with the after ones she was usually still asleep when he got there, flailing and terrified. She often had panic attacks upon waking after those ones, like the first one he'd witnessed, and very often didn't sleep again afterwards. At least with the before ones he could usually soothe her back to sleep.

Even if Murphy wasn't with her during the night, it would still have been obvious to him which type of dream she had had by the way she behaved the next day. On the mornings after the before dreams she would be quiet and introverted, barely talking even to him and so lost in her own thoughts that she jumped at the slightest sound. On days that she'd dreamed about after, she became a whirlwind of activity, almost as if she was afraid to stop and let her thoughts in at all. Usually she settled down by the afternoon, but a couple of times he'd gone to get her from work, and Kate had directed him to the kitchen where he'd found Natasha scrubbing at various obscure and unseen corners. He'd managed to talk her out eventually, but she'd spent the rest of the day skittish and unsettled. There were very few days when she hadn't dreamt at all, but he cherished those days more than he liked to admit.

The night before had been a night of before dreams, one of the worst yet. She'd sobbed into his chest, completely overcome by emotions that she had no context for, and he'd held her and rocked her and whispered to her in Gaelic because that always seemed to comfort her better than words in English that she actually understood. By the time she'd slept it had been almost morning and, although he wanted nothing more than to curl himself round her and drift off to sleep, he wouldn't allow himself to. Instead, he had brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face, kissed her forehead tenderly and then manoeuvred himself out of the bed.

He felt exhausted, not just from lack of sleep but from the emotional drain nights like this had on him. It was easy to forget sometimes, on the semi-normal days, how much Natasha had been through. On mornings like this though, after the really bad nights, it slammed to home to him just how much fucked up stuff she had in her head. More than that, it reminded him in the strongest terms that someone had hurt her, had done countless untold things that left her in such a mess. It filled him with rage, not just the anger that he felt towards the numerous men he and Connor had killed in the Lord's name, but sheer, uncontrollable rage like he had felt towards Papa Joe after he had killed Rocco.

_Just because ye fancy her._

_It's not like that._

It wasn't that he _didn't_ fancy her, although he'd doggedly refused to admit that to Connor. If it had just been that then he was fairly certain he could have dealt with that much more easily. No, the problem was beyond that. She intrigued him, sparked something in him and he craved her company in the same way that he craved nicotine. He tried to work his shifts so that he could meet her from work, and then they would spend the afternoons together; sometimes just walking aimlessly, sometimes going for coffee or to the park. And talking, lots of talking. He would tell her stories, about his mother and growing up in Ireland with Connor, the scrapes they had gotten into. He told her about coming to America, the life they'd had in Boston and the friends they'd had at McGinty's. Those stories seemed to make her laugh, and he'd memorised the way her nose crinkled when she did.

Once he'd crossed over into his own "after" and told her about how their father had found them, and how afterwards he'd gone back to Ireland, back to their Ma. He missed out the part about Rocco. It was too close to admitting his fears to her, and he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to talk about sad stuff anyway. He wanted to make her laugh.

He loved to watch her too. She'd decided she wanted to learn to cook, so she'd gotten a huge book out of the library and on her after days she would whip up one ambitious meal or another, ending up with the kitchen a mess and her in the middle of it with flour in her hair. Of course, she'd freak out then and clean it in a mad dash, but he didn't even care about the mess. He just thought she looked beautiful, standing there with that book resting on one arm and the spoon in her other hand, her face a picture of concentration.

There were other times that he would just stare at her, torture himself with thoughts of how she might feel, under him and over him and around him. How her skin would feel sliding against his. How her lips would feel, how she would taste, the noises she would make as she came undone. She would inevitably catch him looking, shoot him a curious glance, and then he would chastise himself for perving over her when that was probably the last thing she needed from him.

He felt like he was standing on the top of a waterfall, teetering and always at risk of falling over the edge with no possible way of coming back if he did. He had created all sorts of intricate rules for himself, trying to minimise not only his own growing attraction to her but the effect it might have on her too. He was acutely aware that if they got close then it wouldn't only be him that would be hurt by their inevitable separation; it would undoubtedly hurt her too, and he couldn't bear to be the cause of any more pain to her. So he allowed himself to get close to her at night, having convinced himself that it was for her benefit rather than his. Knowing that he would inevitably end up in her bed, he slept in his jeans, hoping that the thick fabric would be enough to mask his body's obvious reaction to being close to her, and he did everything he could to comfort her but drew the line at falling asleep with her. During the day, he kept his distance; ensuring that he didn't touch her or worse, give into his increasingly desperate need to kiss her. He was fairly certain that if he ever broke that rule there'd be no going back; he'd never be able to leave her behind after that and he couldn't risk it.

He knew, deep down, that he was fighting a losing battle; on his side at least. All of his clever schemes didn't change the fact that he could barely go a few hours without seeing her, without hearing her voice and knowing she was safe, before he started climbing the walls. He wanted her, not just in the biblical sense but in other, more innocent, ways. He wanted that stupid cliché apple pie life with her, not in any way other than with her. He knew he would never—_could_ never—have that and it was slowly eating him from the inside. He knew leaving her was going to be agony, probably more than he could bear. The only thing left stopping him from throwing all caution to the wind was that he knew even the suggestion of such a thing would put her at risk. His sleep, what little he got, was haunted by dreams of Rocco's death; dreams where Rocco somehow morphed into Natasha at one point or another and that image was enough to hold him back. He just hoped it would continue to be so.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a door scraping open, and he raised his eyes to see his twin emerge, bleary-eyed, from their room. Connor shuffled over to join him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and, after taking in Murphy's slumped form, grabbed a beer of his own before sitting down.

"Bad night?"

Murphy snorted. "Understatement." He sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking a swig of his beer. "Just…I just wish I could fix it for her, ye know?"

"It'll be alright, Murph. Your girl's a tough cookie."

"She's not 'my girl' Connor," Murphy responded tiredly, absently trailing patterns in the condensation on his beer bottle.

"I reckon you're the only one left who believes that," Connor muttered, taking a drink of his beer.

"Quit talkin' such bollocks, would ye?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake Murph! When are ye gonna just suck it up and admit what's goin' on here?"

Murphy shot his brother an exasperated look. "Why do ye keep goin' on about it like this, eh? You were the one that told me not to get attached. And I agree, I shouldn't. So here I am, tryin' my bloody best not to. Ye're not helpin'." He cut himself off, realising that he'd revealed more than he'd intended to. Connor didn't look angry or surprised though; he just nodded in acceptance.

"Looks to me like ye're already attached Murph," Connor said resignedly.

"You've changed your tune," Murphy grumbled, chewing at his thumbnail.

Connor sighed. "I've not so much changed my tune as cottoned on to the inevitable. It's obvious how ye feel about her. It's been bloody obvious since the mornin' Smecker came to see us and ye just about ripped his head off. Tried to tell ye then and as fuckin' usual ye wouldn't bloody listen." He ruffled his brother's hair affectionately, and Murphy half-heartedly swatted his hand away. "No point cryin' over spilled milk now Murph. Better just make the best of it."

"What do ye think I'm tryin' to do? Ye said yourself, when this is all done we'll be leavin'. I'm not gonna start somethin' with her and then do a runner, I'm just not. I don't wanna fuck with her." He looked down at his hands, rubbing his fingers together as he tried to explain.

Connor reached out and gave Murphy's shoulder a squeeze, pulling back and pausing for a moment before he spoke. "Ye know…," he said, reluctantly. "If ye want to stop Murph ye only have to say. We can do this job, and then call it quits. If that's what ye want."

Murphy looked at him, aghast. "We can't just _stop_, Conn. It's the Lord's work; we can't just stop because we want to."

Connor shrugged. "Maybe not. But that's what we'll do, if it's what ye want."

Murphy made a frustrated noise, throwing his arms up in defeat and then burying his face in his arms on the table. "I don't even know what I fuckin' want. I want to not have to choose."

His twin grinned at him. "That'd be too easy, right?

"Aye, that it would," Murphy mumbled wryly. He chuckled humourlessly, looking back up at his brother. "Ye never know, I might overthinkin' the whole thing. She might not even feel the same anyway."

Connor stared at him in amazement. "Jesus Christ, Murph, are ye fuckin' blind?" he asked, incredulously. "It's plain to everyone, except you clearly, that she feels the same. She's never got her eyes off ye."

"She's like that with everyone, Conn," Murphy pointed out. "She watches everything."

"Not like she looks at you," Connor persisted. "She looks at ye like ye're the most interesting thing in the world. She doesn't look at anyone else like that, believe me."

Murphy chuckled into his beer despite himself. "So she looks at me like I'm a science project, then?"

Connor gave his brother a shove with his shoulder. "Oh, ye know what I mean Murph. She looks at ye in a special way. You look at her in a special way. Ye both have a thing for each other."

Murphy just rolled his eyes, and started digging in his coat pocket for his cigarettes. He offered one to his brother, and then lit his own and took a deep drag. _Nothing's changed_, he told himself. Just because Connor had suddenly, inexplicably, decided to start breaking rules didn't mean he had to. He wondered if maybe Connor was starting to get fond of Natasha too, if that was the explanation behind it.

The scrape of her door drew his attention. She padded out, dark circles under her eyes and looking down at the floor. She looked almost as blank as she had the day he had unchained her.

"Mornin' Nats," Connor greeted her cheerily, but she barely acknowledged him. She met Murphy's eyes for the briefest moment, but even as he opened his mouth to offer his own greeting she had disappeared into the bathroom. Murphy sighed. It was going to be one of _those_ days.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you once again for all the lovely feed back - whether reviews or follow/favourites I love getting them :D **

**Just to let you know I'm in the middle of moving house so the next update might take a bit longer than usual, but I hope you enjoy this one in the meantime!**

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Connor couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Murphy like this over a woman. They'd had their fair share of girls over the years, but Connor had always tended to be the one who formed attachments, while Murphy brought a never-ending string of one night stands back to the loft. There'd been one or two over the years that he'd kept a bit longer, but nothing like this.

He eyed them from across the table, Natasha pushing the cereal around the bowl more than actually eating it and Murphy so preoccupied with watching her concernedly and nudging her to eat something that he wasn't eating much either. He could see that she was trying, desperately fighting against her lethargy in order to make Murphy happy, and eventually she swallowed a few bites and Murphy returned to his own food.

They walked out to the car in silence, on their way to drop Natasha off at the diner and then go on to their own job. He'd thought their days of dull as dishwater factory jobs were done, and he wasn't really enjoying this temporary return to their old life. He missed their work, their proper work, sick as he knew it would probably sound to anyone else. He missed finding the bad guys and picking out the targets, missed planning their hits, missed the satisfaction that came afterwards when the world was a few evil souls shorter thanks only to him and his brother. Murphy seemed quite happy to stay as long as they needed to though, and Connor was trying to make the best of it, he really was. It scared him sometimes, the lengths he would go to make sure his brother was safe and happy. It had always been that way, even when they were children, but since their close call last year it seemed to have gotten worse. The smallest thing would remind Connor of that morning, watching his brother being dragged out to face a certain death while he was helpless to stop it, of that momentary realisation that his twin was going to die and he was going to be left all alone. The result was that, more than ever, he would do anything to keep his brother safe, not just for Murphy's sake but for his own as well.

He'd meant it when he'd offered to abandon their calling, much as it had wrenched at his gut. He would give up everything he held dear, even go against the command of their Lord, to buy Murphy's happiness. He couldn't deny, though, that he'd been more than a little relieved when Murphy had reacted with such horror to his suggestion. He might have offered the solution genuinely, but he wasn't entirely sure how he would have managed to live with it if Murphy had taken him up on the offer.

He'd meant it too when he said he'd known for weeks that Murphy was far more attached to her then he let himself admit, and if he was honest Connor had no idea at this point how to fix it. That conversation they'd had in the car, their first proper day here, had been a last ditch attempt, a desperate hope that making Murphy realise that them leaving would be the best thing for Natasha might actually work. He'd known then though, like he knew now, that it had already been too late at that point. All that it had achieved was to make Murphy desperately conflicted and he'd cursed as he watched his brother try to pull back from her while actually getting in deeper every day that went by.

His priority was to ensure that Murphy wasn't hurt, but even though he'd spent whole nights tossing and turning while he mulled it over, listening as Murphy pulled her down from yet another night of bad dreams, he'd yet to come to a solution. All he'd managed to work out was how he could best minimise the pain his brother would feel. Knowing the guilt his brother carried for Rocco's death, Natasha dying was probably the worst possible outcome, so when his brother had accused him of ignoring her he'd leapt on the opportunity to teach her a bit of self-preservation. She'd been unsure at first, nervous of the gun he'd held out to her, but he'd reminded her of the night they met and how utterly defenceless she had been. "Distracted by a pair of pretty eyes," he'd teased her, and she'd smiled a little and agreed.

He'd been pleased to find out that she was a good student, listening carefully to his instructions as he taught her how to take the gun apart and reassemble it. The actual shooting part had taken a little more work, but eventually she'd pulled off a few good shots and had eagerly lapped up the scant praise he'd offered. When Murphy had gotten home that day she had excitedly reeled off the day's activities to him, and Murphy had nodded to him in gratitude.

He'd made an effort to be nicer to her since then, and truth be told, he was growing quite fond of her himself. Despite all her issues, and her fucking insane mood swings, she was actually fairly uncomplicated and good company he'd found. His calls to Smecker still contained the same urgency for progress, but now it wasn't so much a hurry to leave Natasha behind and move on but to get this job done so she was no longer in such danger. He really wasn't sure what would happen after that. His late night musings had offered him a variety of solutions—leave her behind entirely, take her with them, leave her but keep in contact—but none of them was really the one he was searching for. Murphy had it sussed when he'd said he didn't want to choose, because eventually there was going to be a choice to be made and he knew that neither of them was going to be entirely happy with the outcome.

He pulled up outside the diner to let her out, and she muttered a quiet goodbye as she undid her seatbelt and slipped out of the door. Connor was about to set off again when Murphy undid his own belt and opened the door.

"Tash, wait!" Murphy called, hopping out of the passenger seat and catching up to her. She stopped and turned around, a look that Connor could only describe as hopeful on her face.

He stood for a minute just looking at her, rubbing his fingertips of one hand across his lips, the other twitching at his side. Connor thought for a moment that he was going to reach out to her, but then he just shook his head and said, "I'll come get you after, aye?" Her face fell a little, disappointment obvious on her features.

She nodded, giving his twin a small smile, and Murphy turned and got back into the car as she walked into the diner, turning to watch the car leave as Connor drove away. Murphy kept his face resolutely forward, but out of the corner of his eye Connor could see that actually he was watching her figure grow smaller in the wing mirror.

He rolled his eyes. For two people who were clearly crazy about each other, they were both incredibly dense.

* * *

She watched them leave wistfully, wondering if he'd really just called after to say that or if he'd had something else in mind. She heard the door of the diner open and swing closed behind her, felt Kate's presence next to her before she spoke a word.

"You should tell him, you know," Kate advised from beside her.

"Hmm?" she responded absently, eyes still fixed on the car that was fast disappearing from view.

"You should tell that boy how you feel about him. Lord knows it's plain enough that he worships the ground you walk on."

Natasha shook her head, sighing as the car turned the corner and vanished. "It's not like that," she said softly. _I wish it was._

"The hell it isn't," Kate exclaimed. "Listen, I've been around a lot longer than you honey, and if there's one thing I can tell from a mile off it's the look on a man's face when he's crazy in love. It looks just like your boy there."

"It's not like that," she repeated. "He just…he takes care of me. I think he feels like he has to. But he doesn't feel anything else, I'm sure of it." She turned to walk into the diner, but Kate took a gentle grasp on her arm and looked her in the eye.

"Honey, haven't you ever seen the way he looks at you?" Natasha just shrugged, pulling her arm from Kate's hand and pushing the diner door open, moving towards the staff area at the back of the diner.

She _had_ seen him looking, of course; it would be hard to miss _that_ look, the same as the one from the motel. The one that had her weak at the knees, her skin tingling and heat pooling between her thighs. If she believed those movies she watched with Connor sometimes, it would be a sure sign he liked her; it was hard to believe that though when every time he caught her eye in those moments, he scowled at her like she'd done something wrong. The only time he'd ever really shown that he might feel something towards her was the night in the motel when he'd pulled her up out of bed and took her for a walk to shake her bad dreams away. That night he'd held her hand, he'd pulled her close with his arm round her and kissed her hair, and she'd felt something spark in her, something warm and hopeful. But since then, he avoided things like that. He still came to her at night, padding into her room when she needed him as if he knew before she did. But during the day he kept his distance, while still seeking out her company whenever he could. She enjoyed spending time with him, loved listening to his stories, but it had her completely bewildered, and more than once when she'd woken without dreaming she'd felt a stab of disappointment at the lost opportunity to feel his arms round her.

She punched her time card and grabbed an apron, tying it round her waist with a sigh. She had picked up the waitressing quickly enough, as Connor had predicted, but although she enjoyed the distraction of work and she liked Kate's company, she found the customers difficult. They said things she didn't understand, or they made quips about how she should smile more, or generally just tried to make conversation that she didn't want to be involved in. She tried her best, stayed polite and smiled as much as she could bear, but she found that aspect of the job draining, especially on days like this. Days after the before dreams, when really she just wanted to curl up in a ball and forget to exist.

She fixed what she hoped would pass for a smile onto her face and wove her way back to the front part of the diner.

* * *

Murphy was still cursing himself several hours later as he walked down from the bus stop towards the diner. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd intended to do when he jumped out of the car that morning, but it sure as hell hadn't been to stand there like an idiot before chickening out entirely. Connor had ribbed him about it all the way to work, asking what the hell he was waiting for and why didn't he just make a move already. Murphy was beginning to wish Connor had never come round to the idea, because this was infinitely more irritating than being lectured.

She was waiting outside for when he got there, her hair pulled loose from the thick braid she'd had in for work. She smiled at him, a little brighter than this morning, and he grinned back, curling his fingers as he tried to resist the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Good shift?" he enquired.

"I guess. Not too busy." She answered as she twisted a strand of her hair round her finger nervously. "Yours?"

"Aye, not bad. Connor stayed behind to work extra."

"They didn't ask you?"

"Aye, they did." She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he answered her unasked question. "Made a promise to come see ye, didn't I?" _Needed to see her, more like,_ he reminded himself. Promising had nothing to do with it.

Her expression brightened a touch, and she smiled at him again. "You still could've stayed though," she offered.

"Hey now, ye know me. Never break a promise, do I?" She shook her head, smile widening. "Well then. What do ye fancy doin'?"

She shrugged, smile still on her lips, as they set off down the street together. The gap between them was big enough to fit another person in, a gap he kept deliberately in order to fight his instinct to take her hand and link his fingers through hers. She was looking down at the floor, one arm wrapped loosely around herself, the other bent up towards her face as she nibbled on her thumbnail. "Could just hang out at home?" she offered.

_Home._ He still wasn't used to having one, and he liked it. Liked having a home where she was. He was too busy savouring the word that he didn't sense her move towards him, and when her fingers hesitantly wrapped round his hand he made a strangled yelping sound and pulled it back like he'd been electrocuted. "What the—"

"I…I'm sorry. _Shit_," she swore under her breath, and he had to swallow a chuckle. He didn't think he'd ever heard her swear before. One look at her face wiped all humorous thought from his mind though. She looked upset, almost humiliated. "I'm sorry," she muttered again.

_Fuck._ He felt terrible for upsetting her, and found himself tripping over his words to explain that it wasn't her, not at all. It was him, he was the problem. "No, Tash I didn't mean it like that. It's not that I didn't want to. I did, I _do_. It's just… It's complicated."

"Complicated. Right." She gave a curt little nod and quickened her pace, striding ahead of him as he hurried to catch her up.

"Tash, wait. WAIT." He grabbed her wrist, pulling her to a stop and twisting her round so her back was against the wall and she was facing him. "You need to understand. Me and Conn, with what we do, sometimes stuff happens that's dangerous. And when that happens, people close to us get hurt. They _die_, Tash." She didn't respond, just met his eyes and waited for him to continue. He sighed, looking down at his feet. His heart sank at the realisation that he was going to have to tell her, tell her _why_ his company was so dangerous. "We… we had a friend. A good friend. Rocco. We let him join in with us. _I_ let him. And then we got into trouble on a job, and he died. It was my fault. I can't let that happen again, Tash. I _won't_." He looked up again, meeting her eyes, desperately trying to get her to understand.

"I'm sorry," she said, quietly, and he nodded in response, moving to carry on walking before she spoke again. "Did you make him do it?" she asked, matter-of-factly, as if he hadn't just told her that he'd gotten his best friend killed.

"I…what?" he answered, confused. That hadn't been the response he'd been expecting. _When does she ever do something you expect, huh?_

"Your friend." She said, patiently. "Did you make him go along with you?"

"No, of course not! Why would ye—"

"So it was his choice?"

"Aye…" he murmured, realisation dawning.

She nodded and made a noise to acknowledge his response, and then fell silent. She looked away for a minute, like she was deciding something, before meeting his eyes again. The look in her eyes was suddenly _intense_, and he felt almost as if time had drawn to a stop around them. "Y'know what danger is?" she asked him quietly, her face serious.

"What?" He all but whispered it, transfixed by her face, not wanting to tear his eyes away.

"Danger is being kidnapped. It's being locked up and drugged and having someone mess with your head until you don't remember _anything_. Until all you remember is being _there_ and you don't know if that's because you've just always been there or if everything else has faded away. It's people hurting you, doing things to you, because they like it. Because it's fun. And eventually, you don't even care any more. You just zone out and let it happen, because it's easier that way. Because that life is all you have and as far as you know it's the only one you're ever going to have. Because _no one_ cares, no one knows you're even there. No one is coming to help. That's what danger is. You and Connor? You being around is _not_ danger. You being around is what _saved_ me." She had started talking quietly, emotionlessly as if she was reciting a story, but as she went on she became increasingly animated until she was practically shouting at him.

Swallowing the bile he could feel rising at the vivid picture her words were creating in his mind, he took a step towards her. He was intending to take hold of her and try and calm her down, even though it was against all his rules, but she sidestepped him and continued the tirade of words, pointing her finger at him as her voice got steadily louder and less controlled. "No. NO. You don't want to do this—" she threw her arms out, gesturing between them. "Whatever _this_ is, I don't even know. You don't…you don't _want_ me, that's fine. I understand that, I do. I know I'm a total mess."

"Tash, you're not a—"

She cut him off, carrying on as if he hadn't spoken at all. "I know you feel responsible for me and I don't expect anything from you. But don't spout that crap about it being for me. You don't get to decide that. You don't get to take my choices away. That was them. That's what _they_ did. And you, you're supposed to be different. You can't be like them. You just…you can't." Her voice cracked on her last statement, and she aggressively wiped a tear from her cheek as she turned and marched down the street to their apartment, leaving him standing in the middle of the street completely shell shocked.

Murphy's head was spinning at this point; there was so much information in what she was throwing at him that he couldn't seem to process it all. She thought he didn't _want_ her? He almost wanted to laugh at such a ridiculous notion. Wasn't it obvious how he felt? _Obviously not, idiot._

And then he was running, running after her, all his stupid rules flying out of the window. He caught up to her just as she reached the door to their building, and he grabbed her wrist again, pulling her inside. She was shaking he realised, adrenaline coursing through her, and more tears streaked her cheeks. Their eyes met, and he moved towards her until he'd backed her right up against the wall. He swallowed hard, trying to slow his heart which seemed about to pound right out of his chest. She looked up at him, blue eyes meeting his, and the atmosphere between them markedly changed, grew thicker somehow.

"You're wrong," he whispered, taking a step back as he tried to regain control over himself.

"You don't kn—"

"Not about that. About me."

"I don't understand…"

"I do want you. I do."

Something flickered in her eyes, and she took a hesitant step towards him then, eyes never leaving his. He realised he was shaking too, and without thinking he closed the distance between them. She tilted her head upwards, stood on her tiptoes slightly so her lips were right next to his, so close to touching but with still a whisper of a gap between. Somehow, he knew that she wouldn't make that final step, knew it was on him and that all he had to was step back and the moment would be gone. He knew he _should_ do that. But instead, he reached out a trembling hand, cupped her cheek and pulled her lips to his.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N Well, the house move was successful so I'm back :D thank you so much for all the new reviews, favourites and follows while I was away, they make me happy!**

**So, I'm not sure if I'm entirely happy with this one, but I've rewritten it so many times now that I think this is the best it's getting. it'll be interesting to see what you guys think!**

**EDIT:**

**A/N #2 So, after some feedback from kaoscraze, I've added a new section into this chapter in the middle, filling in the missing scene between them. I just want to say thank you to her for her comment and for the help she gave me fine-tuning this scene, it's the first time I've ever written anything like that and she was pivotal in making it happen. Hope you like it!**

* * *

It was a soft, gentle kiss, to begin with anyway. She responded hesitantly at first, almost like she wasn't quite sure what to do, but then she opened her mouth to him and when her tongue brushed uncertainly against his he just about lost it there in the hallway. Pouring all his pent up emotion into her, he pushed her back against the wall, kissing her desperately, one hand buried in her hair and the other gripping her hip, his thumb running back and forth along the bare skin just under the hem of her shirt. She slipped one arm up and around his neck, locking him against her, and gripped his shirt tightly in her other hand, her skin quivering under his touch as his fingers inched higher.

_Stop. You promised not to do this. You need to stop _now.

But he wasn't even listening any more, because she felt so good, her body warm against him, skin soft under his fingers, lips cool and tender against his. He'd been right. There was no way he could ever leave her now. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to stop kissing her. It felt new and familiar all at once, like the first kiss he knew it to be but also like he was coming home at the same time. He'd never experienced anything like it before. He could feel himself growing hard, wanting to be even closer to her, and when his hips bucked against her entirely instinctively and her breath hitched in response, he let the voice have its way.

He pulled back from her reluctantly, eyes locked on hers. They were both breathing raggedly, looking at each other apprehensively and she offered him a shaky smile. "You do?" she asked, her lips twitching in amusement as if she knew the question was entirely redundant.

He sighed, and rested his forehead against hers. "I do. So fuckin' much, ye have no idea." _Pretty sure you just gave her a fairly good idea._

Her grin widened, and he couldn't resist mirroring it. For a moment they just stood there, grinning at each other like a pair of idiots, and then she laughed. "Funny way of showing it," she teased, and he chuckled along with her.

"Aye, well…" he muttered, rubbing at his mouth awkwardly. His tone grew more serious as he continued, "I'm sorry, 'bout all that. I didn't mean…I wasn't tryin' to decide for ye. I just wanted to keep ye safe."

She pressed herself against him, slipping her arms round his waist and resting her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry too…about before. I didn't mean to yell at you. I just…I wanted you to understand. I know you're not like them. I shouldn't have said that."

He kissed the top of her head, resting his chin there and wrapping his arms right round her. "It was a fair point, to be honest. And I do understand. Ye were right, it's not right for me to try and make choices for ye. Even without…all that other shit. I had no right to do that."

"No, you didn't," she agreed. "But I understand too, now you've explained. I'm sorry about your friend. He must have been very special to you?"

"Aye he was. He was great, ye know. Totally flaky, but the best friend ye could ask for. Loyal as they come. They used to call him the Funny Man, always had a joke to hand." He smiled wistfully, and she pulled away and looked up at him.

"Why didn't you tell me? All those stories you told, you never mentioned him before."

"How could I tell ye that, eh? That my best friend was murdered because of me?" He looked down, too ashamed to meet her gaze.

"It wasn't your fault," she whispered softly.

"Aye, it was. It was my idea to bring him in," he said, recalling Connor's words to him.

"He wouldn't have done it if he didn't want to. He must have been proud to be your friend."

"Maybe. But he'd have lived a hell of a lot longer if it hadn't been for me."

"And never have stood for anything?" He raised his eyes to hers curiously. "Is that all life is then? Just carrying on as long as you can? Is that what you saved me for?"

That made him think, and he paused. "I… I dunno. That's deep shit." He grinned then, a proper smile that reached his eyes. "Where do ye get all this from, eh? Ye hardly ever talk and then ye come out with all this wise shit."

"I think too much," she shrugged.

"Aye, that I can believe," he sighed, taking her hand and giving her a gentle tug towards the stairs. "'Mon, let's get home, aye?"

They climbed the stairs in pensive silence, each sneaking looks at the other, until they reached their door. Murphy paused, looking down at their entwined fingers. "I dunno what the fuck I'm meant to do here," he confessed. "I don't wanna put ye in danger."

"That isn't your decision though. It's mine. And anyway, it could just as easily be me getting you or Connor killed," she pointed out quietly. "I'm the reason we're even here, after all."

"'S not the same," he muttered, chewing his lip worriedly.

"Isn't it? _He_…they," she stumbled over the words. "They're probably looking for me. That's what your friend said. That's why we're here, hiding out, instead of you and Connor being on the road like you were before. What if they find me and _you_ get hurt? Would that be my fault then?"

"What? No!" he blurted out. "Of course not. We knew what we were gettin' into."

"Well then," she said, and turned to face him properly, reaching up and kissing him softly. "That's the end of it. You know what you're getting into; I know what I'm getting into. Can't say fairer than that."

He rifled in the pockets of his coat, looking for his keys, as he replied. "'S not just that though is it? Once we've dealt with all this, once ye're safe, me and Conn…we'll still have a job to do. We can't just stop. We'll have to leave."

"You'd do that, would you? Just up and leave without even discussing it?"

"No," he admitted, raking his hand through his hair and unlocking the door. "I think we both know I couldn't do that. I don't wanna leave ye Tash."

"So don't," she said quietly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. _Maybe it is._ He dipped his head, claiming her lips again, and pulled her inside.

He kicked the door closed behind them and pushed her up against it, lips crushed against hers and his fingers creeping underneath her shirt again. She let out a soft moan as his fingers brushed the underside of her breast, and before he had time to think he had grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged it up and over her head. He froze momentarily, taking in the sight of her in a mixture of heated desire and icy horror. Her entire torso was a litany of scars, some obviously cigarette burns and whip marks, others with less obvious causes.

"What the hell—?" he forced out hoarsely, backing up slightly.

She wrapped her arms around herself, looking down at the floor. "Told you," she muttered. "Some people have fun hurting other people."

"Ye mean they did this to ye? For…for _fun_?" He choked on the last word and she nodded, turning away from him in shame.

"If you…if you'd rather not. I understand. I'm…they're ugly, I know."

_Shit_. Was he destined to spend this entire day fucking up and hurting her feelings? He moved back to his original position, slipping his fingers under her chin and pulling her face up so her eyes met his. "Hey, you stop that right now, ok? You're amazin', Tash. Fuckin' beautiful. And smart too, and funny, and strong. There's never been anyone like you for me, never. And before I found ye…well let's just say I was fairly certain there never would be. And now I don't ever wanna be apart from ye again."

He kissed her before she had chance to reply and she relaxed into him, returning the kiss with fervour and deepening it, her fingers tangled in his hair and body pressed against his. He pulled back regretfully, meeting her eyes with a smirk. "And see if ye keep kissin' me like that, I think I'll just about lose meself."

"You will?" she whispered, her eyes dark and cheeks flushed. "Right here?"

"Well, maybe not here. I'd try and get ye into bed first," he grinned at her, matching her teasing tone.

"Well, come on then." She pulled him towards her bedroom, turning to look at him expectantly.

He stared at her in shock. "What?!" He'd thought she'd been teasing, he hadn't actually…

She stood on her tiptoes, reaching up so that her lips were right next to his ear, her breath hot against his skin as she spoke, her voice barely a whisper now. "Lose yourself."

She pulled him through the door to her room and he shut it behind them, leaning against it as his brain raced to process what was happening. It wasn't helped by the fact that most of his blood seemed to be rushing south and he was struggling to focus on anything other than the sight of her in front of him. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly that it was making him lose all rational thought. Equally though, he didn't want to rush her or to take advantage of her. With a start, he remembered the incident with Connor just after they had found her, when she'd misunderstood his brother's intentions. _Fuck._ Is that was this was? Did she think…?

She'd gone a little further into the room than him, turning when she realised he was no longer directly behind her. She was staring at him now, her eyes boring holes into him as if somehow she could see right inside him. He swallowed heavily as she walked back towards him, coming up in front of him and trapping him against the door. She didn't say anything, just held his eyes in hers as she reached out and stroked her fingers over his face, down the side of his neck and then down his body. It was just about the hottest thing he'd ever seen. It took all he had not to just throw caution to the wind and respond like he wanted to, but he had to be sure.

"Tash…ye know ye don't have to prove anything to me, right? That I'm not expectin'—"

"I know," she replied quietly, hands slipping under his shirt and running along the hard planes of his chest. He bit his lip in an effort to stifle the moan that came in response, her fingers tracing over his skin with a feather light touch that had him aching for more.

"I mean…I just…" His words were coming out in a confused jumble as she continued her exploration, her hands trailing back down and over the sensitive skin of his stomach. "Ye don't have to do anything, for me. I don't want ye to…"

"I'm not doing it for you," she said. "I'm doing it for me." She looked up at him, eyes pleading. "I want you," she whispered hoarsely. "I want—"

He cut her off, crushing his lips against hers and walking her backwards towards the bed, catching her and holding her upright when she hit the foot of the bed and her knees buckled against it. He tangled his fingers into her hair, pulling her head to the side slightly and trailing soft kisses along her jaw line and down the curve of her neck, as he trailed the fingers of his other hand up her spine, relishing the gentle sigh she breathed against his lips. When he reached the clasp on her bra he released it with a deft movement of his fingers, sliding the straps over her shoulders and tracing his fingers along her collarbone. There was a faint scar on the curve of her shoulder, a burn most likely, and he leant down and ghosted his lips over it as her bra fell to the floor. She slipped her hand into his hair and pulled his lips back to hers, tangling her tongue with his, and his hand slipped down to cup her breast, thumb gently caressing her nipple as she leaned further into his touch and moaned into his mouth.

They broke apart briefly as she tugged his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side as her fingers resumed their earlier journey over his skin. Her eyes were drawn to the scar on his left bicep, faded but still noticeably the triangular shape of an iron. She ran her fingers over it gently, raising her eyes to his curiously in an unasked question. He shrugged lightly. "Long story. Guess I have my scars too, aye?" She smiled softly and nodded, caressing the raised skin and kissing it softly before reaching for his belt buckle. He caught her wrists in his hands, kissing her gently as she pulled back slightly in confusion. "Hey, there's no rush right?" he grinned, and she frowned slightly.

"I thought you wanted to..." she mumbled.

"I do, Tash. But there's no rule says we have to jump right to the end, aye?" She gave him a puzzled look, and he sighed. "Tash, I know…I know that…this kind of thing…" He sat down heavily on the end of the bed, raking his hands through his hair in frustration as he tried to find the words. She perched lightly next to him, eyeing him curiously. He tried again. "I know that ye've probably experienced this in a certain way, right? One that probably wasn't much fun for ye?" She nodded, her brows still creased together as she waited for him to finish. "Aye, well…that's not how it's meant to be. There's a whole world of stuff in between," he explained, shooting her a cheeky grin. "Fun stuff. Ye don't wanna be missin' that part out. So I want ye, ok? I do. But not like that. Not just stickin' it in and that's the end of it. I want to do it right."

She gave him a shy smile, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "Okay," she said softly. "But I don't know…I mean…I've never done it like that."

He cupped her cheek with one hand, kissing her sweetly, before he responded. "Don't ye be worryin' about that, right? That's my job." She nodded, and he took a brief moment to take her in. Her eyes were even more expressive than usual, darkened by arousal, bright with excitement, darting back and forth from his in nervousness. He was pretty sure he could always guess her emotions just by looking in her eyes. "Ye're beautiful," he murmured. She blushed, looking down at her lap and shaking her head.

"Not really," she said quietly. "Not with…" she waved her hand up and down her torso to demonstrate, and he caught her wrist in his hand.

"Yes, really," he said, looking her straight in the eye and then dipping his head to her chest, finding each individual scar and kissing it softly. He punctuated each one with the same word in every language he knew. An almost unnoticeable line over her shoulder. "_Álainn._" A faint scar on her neck that he presumed was a result of friction from a collar."_Hermosa._" A collection of puckered cigarette burns over her breasts. "_Belle._" A long welt from a whip across her ribcage. "_Schön._" Knife marks over her stomach. "_Bella._" A cross-shaped brand on her side. That one, more than any of them, made the rage boil up inside of him, the treasured symbol of his faith being used in such a twisted and sadistic way. But he swallowed his rage, stored it away for later use, and kissed the scar as he had all the others. "_Bonita._" He met her eyes again, whispered the word again to show its meaning."Beautiful." She gave him a faint smile, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand, and nodded.

His gaze picked up on a particularly vicious looking scar, a jagged line about 3 inches long underneath her left breast. He cupped his hand around her ribs, running his thumb back and forth along it absently. "Ye know, I hate that they did this to ye. Proves that those men are evil, sadistic fucks. Makes me wanna go and kill someone. But all these say about _you_ is that ye survived. They don't define ye. They don't stop ye bein' beautiful. Nothin' could ever do that."

She kissed him then, somehow hard and soft all at once, and he could feel the emotion pouring out of her. He wished he could show her just how special she was, how beautiful she was in his eyes. He wanted her to know love and tenderness and sheer, exquisite pleasure. And suddenly, he knew exactly what to do. He continued his gentle caress, his thumb stroking upwards until he reached the underside of her breast, his other hand stroking down her stomach and twisting open the button of her jeans. He pulled them slowly down her legs, manoeuvring her back into a seated position on the bed and then tugging them off over her feet.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking bewildered as he slipped down on his knees in front of her. He didn't answer as he ran his fingers up the inside of her leg, placing a soft kiss at her knee and then one on her thigh and another further up. "Oh…," she murmured, falling back against the bed and reaching down to tangle her fingers in his hair.

"Ye said ye were doing this for yourself?" he asked, as he reached his goal and ran his tongue lightly over her through her underwear. She gave a soft yelp of surprise, rising up on her elbows to stare down at him in amazement. "Then let me do this for ye," he said, pulling off her underwear and repeating his action. Her back arched and she moaned in response, her hands fisting in his hair.

He took his time building up her arousal with gentle strokes of his fingers and tongue, feeling a spark of pride with every tiny noise and quiver of the skin he elicited from her. He knew this was pretty much her first time, the first time she had chosen to do this, the first time she would remember this act as loving and pleasurable and not something that was just taken from her against her will. He was determined to make it as good as possible for her, to make sure it was all about her and not him. As her movements became jerky and less controlled, he placed a gentle hand on her stomach to hold her in place, meeting her eyes briefly to check she was ok with the action before returning to his ministrations. She was close, he could tell, and he focused his attention on the little nub of nerves, kissing and licking and sucking until her grip tightened on his hair and she cried out his name as she came.

He looked up at her, and found her eyes on him, slightly unfocused as she came down from her high. She pulled him back up her body, melding her lips to his as her hands reached down, fumbled with his buckle and then pushed his jeans down over his hips. He kicked them off, shedding his boxers quickly after them and positioned himself over her.

He met her eyes, and he paused briefly. "Ye're sure? If ye want me to stop—"

"I'm sure," she responded, her breath catching as he brushed against her entrance. "Don't stop. _Please,_ Murphy."

It was all the confirmation he needed, and he took a hesitant move forward. Her eyes never left his, wide in wonder, as he slid inside her and as they joined they both let out a gasp.

"Oh, _fuck_…" He bit his lip and rested his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily. She was tight around him, soft and warm and welcoming, her taste still on his tongue and her voice filling his head as he fought to keep control over his body.

"Murphy?" her voice was questioning, a slight tinge of uncertainty, as she trailed her fingers up his spine.

"'M fine, love," he replied, breathing out slowly. "It's just…fuck, ye feel good." He felt her grin against his face and he started to move, gently at first and then picking up the pace a little as she moved with him.

He lifted his head and found her eyes again, taking in the way they widened and she caught her breath each time he thrust into her. She looked beautiful, a faint sheen covering her skin, her hair spread around her on the bed, cheeks flushed and lip caught between her teeth.

He tried to prolong it as long as he could, not wanting to stop, but her fingers gripping his back and legs wrapped round his waist soon had his thrusts coming faster than he'd intended. She matched his pace, his name falling from his lips again before she tightened around him. Her climax sent him over, spilling into her as he let out a broken string of curses and then collapsed onto the bed beside her.

* * *

They were curled against each other later, naked and spent, when he broached the subject he'd been avoiding. "Ye said 'he', before. Not just they. _He_." She stiffened in his arms, and he quickly added, "Ye don't have to tell me."

"No…no I want to. You should know, really." She closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths before continuing. "He…he was…he _owned_ me, I suppose. He was the one who did _this_—" she waved vaguely at her head "—to me. He was the first one; he was the one in charge. It wasn't just me, you know. He had others too. I don't know how many, he made sure we didn't see too much of each other. Making sure we didn't compare stories, I guess, or try to escape." She snorted. "As if any of us could have done that anyway. After a while, it wasn't just him any more. There were others, people who worked for him. People who did him favours, or people he wanted to buy off. Some of them just wanted sex. Some…well, you can see for yourself." She choked out a humourless laugh. "The liars though, they were the worst."

He made a strangled noise in his throat, although his grip on her never loosened. "How…how d'ye mean?"

"Sometimes they were upfront mean, they'd…they'd do whatever their thing was, and there was no confusion about it. Those ones were easy, really. Even the really nasty ones. I just learned ways round it. Others, they'd pretend to be nice. They'd be kind, you know? They'd unchain me, they'd feed me, they'd tell me it was all going to be ok and the first few times I believed it. I really thought they would help me. And then it turned out, _that_ was their thing. Making you trust them, giving you hope, so that they broke you inside just as much as outside. And he…_he_ was the worst kind of liar. Because he was both, at the same time. Sometimes he was mean, sometimes he was nice and there was no way of predicting it. What he did to me, making me forget…he enjoyed it. That was _his_ idea of fun."

His stomach was churning, both with disgust and with rage. "I'm going to kill them," he told her. "Every last one who even looked at ye the wrong way." _And your da too,_ he added silently. _Him most of all._ He had a sudden thought. "That's why ye wouldn't talk to us, isn't it? When we found ye. In case that's what we were doin'?"

She gave a small nod, chewing on her thumbnail and looking up at him. "But I was sure there was something different, even then. You and Connor, you didn't feel like any of the rest of them. I felt like…like I could trust you." Guilt twisted in his stomach.

"Aye, ye can." _Liar. Liarliarliar. Pants on fuckin' fire._

"I know," she murmured, kissing his chest. "I know."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N**

**Thank you so much for the reviews on the previous chapter, they make me happy! Just to let you all know, I've added a bit into that chapter (I say a bit, it's practically doubled in length) to fill in the missing scene in the middle. It doesn't change the direction of the chapter at all, just adds in some more detail, but I hope you all like it and I'd love to know what you think. Thanks again to kaoscraze for making it happen!**

**Chapter 15 is in the works so I hope to be back with a proper update by the end of the week!**

**Thanks for reading**

**Alli**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N So, this took slightly longer than intended - apologies for the wait! I'm really pleased with how this one's turned out though, so hopefully it's been worth the wait for you guys!**

* * *

Throwing his pen down on his pile of reports, Smecker rubbed wearily at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache forming. He lifted his coffee cup, and then sat back in its place on the desk with a sigh. Empty. Of course it was. He should probably quit drinking the stuff actually, given that he'd been up for—he checked his watch—thirty-six hours already. He stared at the watch face in amazement. Had it really been that long? He really couldn't remember the time passing.

It was this case, this damned case. Racing back into his mind with all the subtlety of a freight train, the one that got away. The one case out of the hundreds he'd been involved in that he looked back on with regrets, regrets that they never got the guy, that the cartel had just been able to carry merrily on while the FBI scrabbled in the dirt for evidence. Regrets about the daughter, that their tight surveillance hadn't been enough to save her. And then of course, she just had to go and turn up alive, sending the whole thing right back to the top of his priority list. This time, one way or another, he was going to get this guy. He just needed to find a way in.

He'd hoped the daughter would be a good lead, but it had turned out to be a dead end, and had done nothing but add another problem into the matter. Connor's calls were getting increasingly impatient, asking for progress, and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to hold them back. It seemed both of the Saints were growing extremely fond of her. More than that, reading between the lines of Connor's carefully chosen words, Smecker suspected that there was something going on between her and Murphy. Another complication. Brilliant.

This whole thing was a total mindfuck. He had his bosses breathing down his neck about the Saints case, asking him constantly why no progress was being made, as he set up misdirection after misdirection to keep the heat off the MacManus brothers. He knew it was only a matter of time before he lost all credibility and was removed from the case altogether. God only knew how the brothers would fare once they no longer had his protection.

"Boss? You got a minute?"

He looked up from his paperwork at the young woman in the doorway, and smiled tiredly. "What is it, Bloom?"

"Just somethin'…weird. You remember that cold case you set me up on, for research experience?"

"Yes?" he answered quickly. Too quickly, he thought, as his young assistant gave him an odd look. Trying to cover the eager tone in his voice, he cleared his throat before continuing. "The…uh…the Wilson case, wasn't it?" She nodded, the strange look still on her face. "Yes, yes I remember. What did you find?"

"Some information that just came up, via local PD. Seems there's a request come down from the top levels of the cartel. Lookin' for _her_." She slid the picture across the table to him, and after taking a cursory glance he sighed deeply. He should have seen this coming. Eunice looked at him curiously. "It don't make any sense, right? I thought the daughter was long dead?"

"Yes, well that's what we thought. You'd better sit down." She opened her mouth but her cut her off. "What I am about to tell you does not leave this room, you understand me?" She nodded, and he added pointedly, "I mean it. No one, not even Kunty. _Especially_ not Kunty."

She sat down with a sigh, knowing they were about to rehash an already well-trodden argument. "John. His name is John. And he's been real nice to me, showin' me the ropes and all."

Smecker snorted. "I bet that's not all he's been showing you," he muttered to himself.

She shot him an angry look. "Well, that's none of your business now, is it? Anyway, I don't know why you have such a problem with him."

"He's a pompous asshole, that's why. You'll find out, soon enough." Pompous asshole was being charitable, Smecker thought to himself. John Kuntsler was a pain in the ass, a fucking thorn in his side. A rookie agent trying to make a name for himself, he'd been niggling at Smecker for weeks now, picking through his reports for discrepancies and trying to find some way to get himself onto the case. _Over my dead, festering corpse._ Kuntsler's sudden interest in Bloom was just the icing on the cake—it seemed obvious to Smecker that there was an ulterior motive there, but she seemed to be remaining entirely oblivious.

"Well, I'm sure I will, if that's the case," Eunice said, with a sweet smile that betrayed the merest hint of venom. "But you bitchin' about it like you think you're my daddy or somethin' ain't gonna make that come round any quicker." He glared at her across the desk, and she rolled her eyes. "Fine, I won't tell him. Now, what's goin' on here Boss? This ain't just a cold case, is it?"

"No. Not any more, anyway," he said, resting his chin on his hands. "About six weeks ago, I got some information about her. Turns out someone found her in some crack den that had been cleared out by the Saints."

"The Saints? Wait, the one just outside Pittsburgh? I never saw that in your report."

"That's because I deliberately left it out. I made sure she got the hell out of there, and she's safe with some…old contacts of mine."

She stared at him in astonishment. "Why the hell did you do that? How did you even get her to agree to it?"

He shrugged. "Wasn't that hard. Girl's memory's completely shot anyway; she can't remember anything from before she was taken. I just told her that her whole family was dead and that her life was in danger. She practically begged to stay where she was."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So, you told her a pack of lies? That's cold, even for you."

"Look, you know the story here as well as I do. Her life _is_ in danger. And there was no way I could risk her ending up back there. This is first decent lead we've had in years!"

"An' I bet you were _real_ disappointed when it turned out she couldn't remember a damned thing, weren't you?"

He looked at her sharply. "That isn't fair, Eunice."

"Isn't it?! You just as good as told me that you've got this girl holed up somewhere under false pretences, just so you can use her to get at the cartel. If that's not cold, Paul, then I don't know what is."

"Well, it's not like I enjoyed it," he snapped back at her.

"I never said you did," she retorted. She looked at him, studying him for a minute and then sighed. "Look, you can't just drop this on me and expect me to just roll on like nothing happened. I'm supposed to be a cop, uphold the law. This ain't what I signed up for."

"Yeah, well you know what? Sometimes if you wanna uphold the law, you have to skirt round it a little. Too much freakin' red tape tying our hands together, you've seen that already."

"This is serious Paul. Never mind the girl; _you_ could get into serious trouble behavin' like this. What the hell is goin' on with you?"

He didn't respond right away, weighing his options. How much to tell her? He'd always intended to tell her everything eventually, set her up as a contact for the boys for when he retired, but this conversation had come a lot quicker than he'd expected and she clearly wasn't ready to take his allegiance to the Saints the way he needed her to. "Nothing," he said, looking back down at his papers. "It's a good lead, Bloom. Thanks."

He saw her face harden in his peripheral vision, her mouth set in a thin line as she pushed her chair back from the desk and stood up. "No problem Boss," she said coldly, and turned and left the room.

As the door clicked closed behind her, he looked down at the picture of Natasha Wilson again. This might give him what he needed to finally get some manpower onto the case, but it was a worrying development. If the top rungs of the cartel were looking for her, there was no way of telling how far this picture could have spread. He cursed the short-sightedness of his plan, having left him no way of contacting the MacManus brothers should he need to. He'd only just spoken to Connor the day before, meaning it was another six days at least until Connor was due to call again. With this new information, that might well be time they didn't have. The twins would need to be on their guard, possibly move on again. He could only hope that they had time on their side.

* * *

Natasha liked watching Murphy sleep. She couldn't quite put her finger on why, but it was largely down to being free to stare at him for as long as she pleased, drinking in his features and committing them to memory. There was something intoxicating about his face she'd realised, some other-worldly beauty that drew her eyes to him even when that wasn't her intent. She touched his face softly, brushing his hair off his forehead and running her thumb affectionately over his cheekbone. A faint moan escaped his lips, and she drew her fingers back and brushed her lips against the space they vacated.

He slept as he was when he was awake, constantly moving and twitching, mumbling often, curling closer to her each time his dreams moved him too far away. He was wrapped around her currently, lying on his side with his left arm lodged underneath her and his right holding her tight against his chest. His legs were tangled with hers, one of them wedged tantalisingly between her thighs causing a delightful, expectant heat to slowly build, spiking every time he moved in his sleep and jerked against her.

She still couldn't quite believe it, that he was here sleeping next to her. She wished and hoped for it so hard, to have him sleep beside her and be there when she awoke, that it seemed almost unbelievable that it had actually happened. It had been two weeks, two crazily wonderful weeks in which everything she thought she knew had been turned upside down. Sex had always been something that men did _to_ her, their weight crushing her as they grunted their way to completion, bending her into place and forcing themselves into her, on odd occasion putting her on top so that they could kid themselves that she was enjoying it just as much as they were. With Murphy, that same act had suddenly become a breathtaking shared experience of intimacy. She'd expected—or hoped at least—that sex with Murphy would be gentler, perhaps even enjoyable, but nothing could have prepared her for what had followed, for the way he made her feel and the way he focused so heavily on making sure she was ok and that she was satisfied before he would allow himself any. He had been right—she had never before experienced sex the way it was supposed to be, and now that she had she found herself fascinated by all the different ways in which pleasure could be found. She had found that she gained as much enjoyment from Murphy's pleasure as she did her own, discovering with awe the sounds and facial expressions she could coax out of him with the merest stroke of a finger or flick of a tongue.

He stirred next to her, his eyelids fluttering a little as they opened and his eyes met hers. "Mornin'," he mumbled sleepily.

"Hey," she said softly, losing herself for a moment in his eyes. His hair was sticking up all over the place, and she reached out to stroke it down. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Watchin' me sleepin' again, were ye?" he said, smirking a little as he stretched and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

She felt her cheeks colour. "Might have been."

"Weirdo," he grinned, pulling his arm out from underneath her. He propped himself up on his elbow and ran his hand into her hair, catching a strand and rubbing it between his fingers. "'S a good thing I like ye."

"Guess it is," she teased back, mirroring his grin.

"No dreams last night," he suddenly realised.

"Nope," she said, her grin widening. They'd been coming less frequently and, with the exception of a fairly bad one the week before, less severely too. Although she hadn't said anything, she thought Murphy probably had a lot to do with it. She always felt better when he was there.

He was watching her with bright, eager eyes, suddenly excited. "Ye wanna do somethin' today? I could jack off work; we could jump on a bus and just go somewhere."

"Can't," she said regretfully. "I promised Kate I'd go in early today, remember? She needs me all day, Janie's away."

His face fell. "Shit, I'd forgotten about that. Tonight, then? I'll take ye for dinner after work."

She pulled away and looked up at him curiously. "Is today something special?"

"Need a reason to take me girl out to dinner now, do I?" he teased, cupping her cheek and kissing her softly as she shook her head and beamed at him. His girl. She liked the way that felt.

She snuggled against him, smiling into his chest. "I wish I could just stay here all day."

She felt a chuckle rumble in his chest as he replied. "Nothin' stoppin' ye, love."

"I know…I just don't want to let Kate down. She's been really kind to me."

He sighed. "Aye, I know. Want me to walk ye down?"

"No, it's ok. Stay, hang out with Connor."

"Ye sure?" he asked, absently stroking his fingers up and down her back.

"Yes, I'm sure. Fairly certain I can walk myself to work without any major mishaps," she joked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine, Miss Independent. Was just tryin' to do me good deed for the day."

"That's all it was then? Not 'cause you wanted to walk with me?" she said lightly, trailing her fingers over his stomach.

His breath caught in his throat as he answered. "Nope. Why would I wanna do that, eh?"

"Oh, can't think," she replied airily, her fingers dragging over his hips. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure why you're in bed with me either."

"Nah, me neither. Maybe I'll just be goin'—" he cut himself off as her fingers slid down to his thighs, tracing circles as she watched the reaction on his face. "Pervert," he bit out, groaning deep in his throat as she inched her teasing fingers closer.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I think you like it."

He hovered over her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Maybe I do," he murmured, his breath tickling her skin. "Reckon I've been a bad influence on ye."

She bit her lip, her skin tingling in anticipation, her fingers finding their goal and closing around his erection. "Or maybe a good one?"

"_Fuck_—aye maybe," he managed, his face buried in her shoulder. "Maybe ye should prove your point."

"Hmm, or maybe I'll just stay right here," she offered, rolling her coiled fingers around him with a flex of her wrist.

"If that's—_Jesus_—if that's what ye want Tash," he said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "But, I think you want to prove that point as much as I want ye to."

He was right, of course. She could feel the heat building, her hand catching against her own centre as she moved on him. Just a movement here, a slight repositioning there and she could have...

He grinned triumphantly as she lined him up against her. "Told ye."

"Yeah, you win," she mumbled, not sure how this constituted losing anyway. He lifted his head and met her eyes, a silent question. She nodded and flexed her hips against his, and he thrust into her in a smooth languid motion. She let out a blissful sigh, wrapping her legs round him and pulling him in closer. He uttered something unintelligible, tangling his hand back into her hair and resting the other on her hip as he caught her lip gently between his teeth.

He settled into a slow and frustratingly leisurely pace, bringing her torturously close and then pulling back over and over again, grinning wickedly as she trembled in his arms.

"Tease," she accused, the word ending in a moan as his movements quickened again, his pubic bone causing an almost unbearable friction against her.

"Ah, but ye love it," he murmured, gently rolling her nipple between his fingers.

"Mmhhmm," was all she could respond as the pressure continued to build. He didn't stop this time, rolling his hips against her until she could hardly contain it, her head buried against his shoulder as her hands scrabbled for purchase against his back. The orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, knocking the air out of her as she shook against him, clinging to him desperately as his name fell softly and repeatedly from her lips as if it were the only word she could remember. His climax came roaring after hers, his grip on her tightening as he came, whispering something in Gaelic against her ear.

He grinned at her as she the after-shocks shivered through her, pressing soft kisses to every bit of her he could reach. "Never get tired of makin' ye do that," he murmured, pulling her against his chest and pressing a kiss against her hair.

* * *

Connor was sitting at the table when they emerged, already dressed and reading the morning newspaper. He looked up at them with a smirk.

"There's fresh coffee in the pot. Reckon ye'll be needin' it, given the way you two have been at it like fuckin' rabbits."

She looked at the floor, painfully aware of her cheeks burning. "Oh, leave her alone Conn," Murphy said with a glare, grabbing the cereal out of the cupboard while Natasha poured coffee into mugs and sat down at the table.

"Ah, she knows I don't mean anythin' by it," Connor said reaching out and squeezing her shoulder affectionately.

Murphy just grunted, sitting at the table next to his brother and craning his neck to read the headline on the front page. "Anythin' new from Smecker yesterday?" he asked through a mouthful of cereal.

"Not really. Seems to be goin' at a fuckin' snail's pace," Connor responded, his frustration obvious. He met Murphy's eyes over the top of the newspaper. "Reckon he's sussed me out about you two as well."

Murphy shrugged. "Let him. None of his fuckin' business anyway."

Natasha looked up. "Is that bad, if he knows?" she asked, worriedly.

"Not really," Connor replied with a shrug. "None of his business, like Murph said. More bothered about how long this is all takin' to be honest. Seems an awful long-winded way to go about dealing with a fuckin' drug cartel if ye ask me, ye'd think they'd be in more of a rush about it."

"Maybe if there's nothing for the police to work on then we've been over-cautious?" she offered, draining the last of her coffee. "Maybe there's not as much danger as we thought?"

"No way of knowin'," Connor shrugged noncommittally. "We'll just need to trust Smecker's judgement on it, that's all."

She looked at Murphy for his opinion, but he just remained silent, nibbling at his thumbnail and seemingly deep in thought. She looked back to Connor in time to see that he too was eyeing his brother's uncharacteristic silence suspiciously, and he caught her eye and looked down quickly. Almost guiltily, she thought, before quickly banishing the thought.

After another quick glance towards his brother, Connor changed the subject. "Hey Nats. I'm off all day tomorrow, and Murph's workin' doubles. Fancy watching a movie with me, after your shift?"

"I'd like that," she said with a grin. That was their thing, her and Connor. Whenever Murphy worked late they'd pick out a movie to rent and watch it together.

"None o' your girly rom-com shite though, right? It's my turn to pick—we'll get somethin' with guns and car chases."

She frowned at him. "I happen to like the ones with guns and car chases," she said pointedly. "Oh crap—" she muttered suddenly, checking her watch and standing up quickly. "I need to go."

"No problem then, is there," Connor said, beaming at her. "Have a good shift, Nats."

"You too," she called back, exchanging a kiss and a brief goodbye with Murphy before slipping through the door.

She was out on to the street before she realised that she'd left her bag on the arm on the sofa. She cursed in frustration, and turned back into the building. She took the stairs two at a time with her keys ready in her hand, a bounce in her step as her mind drifted back to her early morning frolics with Murphy. When she got to their floor, she realised she could hear raised voices coming from their apartment, Connor and Murphy obviously involved in a heated discussion. Frowning a little as she tried to work out how they'd managed that in the short space of time she'd been away, she turned her key in the door and pushed it open, just in time to catch what Connor was saying before he trailed off in dismay.

"We can't take the risk Murph, if she finds out that we lied, that her da's alive—"

She froze momentarily as her brain raced to process the significance of what she had just heard. Connor was staring at her, his mouth slightly ajar, his eyes flashing to meet Murphy's. Murphy whirled round, his eyes landing on her and a look of horror forming on his face. She looked back and forth between the two of them several times as she struggled to find her voice and finally succeeded.

"Wh-what's going on?"


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N Hello again my lovelies, hope you're all still enjoying the story. Thank you as always for all the feed back, and especially to the wonderful kaoscraze for going over stuff with me and helping with improvements. **

**S****o here's where the shit really hits the fan for Murphy and Natasha! Hope you like it, I'm interested to see what you think.**

* * *

Murphy sat sullenly, chewing at his fingernail, as he listened to his brother spinning yet another line to Natasha. He had been finding the whole situation even harder since they had gotten together, finding himself wracked with guilt and avoiding discussing the situation with her at all to avoid having to tell her any more lies. She'd accepted Connor's reassurance without question, he noticed. She trusted his brother implicitly, trusted both of them. _It's going to destroy her when she finds out._ He didn't even know where to begin unravelling everything, or how he could ever make it right. _Start with the truth, maybe?_

As Murphy kissed her goodbye, he ran his thumb over her cheek, enjoying the soft, velvety feel of the skin. "I'll get ye for dinner, aye?" he murmured, and she grinned and nodded, leaning up to give him a final, chaste kiss on his lips. "Have a good shift, love."

She smiled up at him, her eyes dancing. "You too. Don't work too hard." She flicked her eyes down his body and then back up again with a suggestive quirk of her eyebrows. He swallowed, feeling himself hardening, and cursed whoever it was who thought it was a good idea that he would be so damned addicted to her.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said hoarsely, and she patted his cheek gently before slipping through the door.

He stared at the closed door for a brief moment, savouring the sensation and then, as the sound of her footsteps faded down the stairs, he turned to face his brother. "'M not doin' this any more. I need to tell her."

Connor looked up from his newspaper and sighed. "Knew ye had somethin' churnin' away in there."

"I can't keep this up, Conn. I can't keep lyin' to her." His tone was beseeching, almost insistent. He knew that he could, if he chose to, just tell her against Connor's wishes. He also knew that he wouldn't. No matter what, he and Connor always stuck together. But now he felt torn, pulled in two separate directions and he needed Connor to see that, needed him to understand his position. Needed him to see that Natasha was important too and that lying to her was tearing him up inside. That as much as he loved his brother and trusted his judgement, Connor was _wrong_ about this.

Connor gave a slight roll of his eyes, and folded the newspaper back on to the table. "Ye know we can't tell her, Murph."

"Why not? 'S gotta be better than constantly makin' up new stories to cover our fuckin' tracks." _And I don't think I _can _tell her any more of these stories either._

"Aye, and how d'ye think she's gonna take it if she finds out eh?" Connor pointed out. "Think she's just gonna let it go and the two of ye will skip through the daisies holdin' hands?"

"I didn't say that. But if I could just explain it to her Conn, before this goes further—" _I could make her understand, I could._

"She's gonna be pissed off, right?" Connor interjected impatiently, pushing his chair back from the table and dumping the empty coffee mugs in the sink. "Seriously pissed off. Who knows how she'll react, Murph? The best thing to do is to just keep this up a little longer until her da's out of the picture. We get rid of him, and she'll never know any different."

"That's not the point, Connor, and ye know it. _I'll _ know."

"Well, then ye'll just need to suck it up then, won't ye? We agreed Murph, all three of us."

"Don't ye fucking _dare_ throw that back at me Connor," Murphy snapped, his voice raised. "I _didn't_ agree, remember? I was fuckin' outvoted."

"Outvoted my _arse_," retorted Connor. "No one made ye go along with it."

"Oh, fuck you! What the fuck would ye know anyway, eh?" He was shouting now, rage coursing through him. He hadn't wanted this. He had _never_ wanted this.

"Fuckin' plenty, actually! We can't take the risk Murph, if she finds out that we lied, that her da's alive—" Connor trailed off as something over Murphy's shoulder caught his attention. He met his twin's eyes, and felt a sinking sense of dread seep into him. There was only one thing that could be causing that look on his brother's face. _No. Please God, no._

She was standing in the doorway, her key in her hand, seeming frozen in place. He could almost see the cogs turning in her brain as she stared at them. _This isn't happening._ Her eyes were flicking between him and Connor, joining up the dots. Her face was drained of colour, her brow furrowed slightly, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. She met his eyes, and the world seemed to stop and for the briefest moment he could just kid himself that everything was ok. _It's not ok. Fuck._

"Wh-what's going on?" she asked quietly, her voice cracking as she spoke. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't seem to form words. He just gaped at her as she swallowed and moved into the tiny room.

Connor seemed to recover first. "Nats, we were just…what are ye doin' back?" he asked, his voice seemingly calm although Murphy could hear the edge in it, the concern.

"I…I forgot my bag," she said dazedly, snatching it up off the arm of the sofa and clutching it to her chest like a child with a stuffed toy. She slid her arms further round herself, hugging herself tightly and looking down at her feet as they shuffled in place.

Somehow spurred into movement, Murphy took a step towards her. "Tash—"

She looked up at him again, her eyes impossibly wide. "My father's alive?" He looked down at the floor, unable to meet her gaze. He nodded almost imperceptibly. "You…_lied_ to me?" He could hear the disbelief in her voice, the desperate hope that there'd been some misunderstanding. He felt an ache creeping up his chest that he couldn't control, like a giant hand slowly squeezing around his ribs, so tight that he was certain that soon he'd lose the ability to breathe. "All of this. All of it was a lie?" He looked up sharply, horrified.

"No," he choked out hotly. "Not all of it. Not what happened between us. Tash," he pleaded, taking a step forward and reaching for her, but she backed away from him until she hit the wall, a look of horror on her face. She looked completely and utterly betrayed, like everything was crashing down around her, and he burned with shame. "Tash, please. Just hear us out. Hear _me_ out. Please." He looked at her imploringly, his voice pleading. He was coming close to begging, he knew, and he didn't even care. Anything to take that look off her face. "It's not what you think it is Tash, I swear. We were just tryin'…when we first found ye…we didn't know how…we were tryin' to keep ye safe." The sentence ended lamely, his words meaningless. She just stared at him, eyes boring into him, and he suddenly had a distinct, crushing sense of déjà vu.

_You don't get to decide that. You don't get to take my choices away._

"I'm sorry Tash, please—"

"I… I have to go," she muttered, twisting her body away from him and moving towards the door.

He darted after her and caught her arm, pulling her round to face him. "Wait, Tash, just listen—"

She met his eyes, her face suddenly cold and impassive. "Connor was right, the day you found me. You should have just left me there."

He reeled back as if she'd punched him, her words cutting right through him, and he watched, stricken dumb and unable to move, as she fled out of the door. He was vaguely aware of Connor dashing after her, but he just stared at the door, unable to process everything that had just happened. His chest was still tight, he could barely breathe, his eyes were burning and he didn't care. He just wanted to erase the past ten minutes and start again.

Suddenly, Connor was back, gripping his shoulders and shaking him, calling his name. He tried to shake him off but his brother just held tighter, pulling him into a hug and muttering placatory bullshit. He felt rage bubble up inside him, hot and intense, and he pushed his hands up between them and shoved Connor away.

"What the—?" Connor gasped, stumbling back with the force of the unexpected push.

"Happy now, are ye?" Murphy demanded, jabbing his finger at his twin. "Get what ye wanted?"

"What the hell are ye talkin' about, Murph? Just calm down, right?" The conciliatory tone in his brother's voice only served to enrage Murphy further.

"She's gone, Connor. Just like ye wanted, eh?" He saw anger flare in his brother's eyes, and felt a satisfied feeling at getting the reaction he'd been looking for.

Connor's mouth set in a grim line before he responded, throwing his arms out in confusion. "How is this my fault, eh? Ye're the one who fuckin' brought it up; it's not my fuckin' fault she came back!"

"Aye, well if ye'd just fuckin' listened to me in the first place, if ye would've let me tell her like I wanted then it wouldn't have fuckin' happened at all, would it?" Murphy retorted, deliberately needling at his brother in the hope that he might finally get Connor to lose his temper so they could battle it out. He could feel it prickling under his skin, the need for a fight, to exchange blows, to feel something other than the horrid twisting and heavy feeling in his gut.

"Right, and look how she reacted, Murph. I fuckin' told ye, it was too big a risk." Connor's voice was raised but calm and controlled, and Murphy lost his remaining grip on his temper.

"She reacted like that because she thinks we're fuckin' with her!" he yelled at his twin. "Because she found out by mistake, because I didn't tell her, because it all came out fuckin' _wrong._"

He turned and punched the wall behind him, leant against it as he sucked in deep, heaving breaths and tried to will his anger away. He felt Connor come up behind him, placing a soothing hand between his shoulder blades, and the anger dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving behind despondent resignation. He had fucked everything up, probably screwed up all the progress Natasha had made since they found her along with his relationship with her. He couldn't get the look she'd had on her face out of his head, backed up against the wall with her eyes wide, mouth agape and her chin trembling.

"God, her fuckin' face Conn," he moaned, pounding his fist against the wall and then resting his forehead against it, relishing the cool relief it offered. "The look on her fuckin' face."

"She'll come round, Murph, once she's calmed down," Connor said gently, rubbing his hand over Murphy's back in long, drawn out circles. "She's gotta understand. It was done with good intentions."

Murphy swallowed hard, forced himself to speak. "Ye don't know how she feels about lyin', Conn. She's got a real thing about it. With good fuckin' reason." _The liars, they were the worst._ Christ, was that what she thought of him? That this was all some twisted scheme, cooked up just to break her? He felt sick.

"Aye but Murph, this is different. We didn't mean her any harm."

"That's not how it seems to her," Murphy said quietly, pulling away and dropping down onto the sofa.

"Murph, I—"

"Ye don't understand, Conn. What they used to do to her…they played mind games with her. Had guys who made out like they really liked her, like they were gonna save her, just to fuck with her head. For fun, Connor. They did that for _fun._"

"Jesus," Connor breathed, sinking down next to his brother. "But she can't think—"

"She does," Murphy said, his voice flat. "She does." He let his head fall into his hands, completely blindsided by the turn of events. Had it really been barely an hour ago that he'd awoken tangled up around her and joked around with her, made love with her? How could things have turned around so quickly? He thought back to what he'd said as he came, the words that had come out of him unbidden and unplanned as he lost himself in her. _Is breá liom tú_. I love you. And now…now God only knew what she thought of him.

"It'll be fine Murph," Connor was saying, still intent on reassuring him. "She's away to work now, and I'm sure once she's had time to think it over she'll be willin' to listen at least. Best we can do right now is get to work ourselves, we'll go by Kate's after and talk to her then. Right?"

"Fine," Murphy sighed, too drained to argue. He rose to his feet and followed Connor out to the car, his body working on auto-pilot as his brain replayed the morning's events, both good and bad. It had all come out wrong, he knew that. He just hoped she'd listen to him the next time he tried to explain, that he'd have the right words ready to prove that he hadn't meant her any harm.


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello m'dears. Sorry for the awful wait on this one - combination of school holidays and a serious struggle to get this one how I wanted it. But it's done now!**

**Thank you as always for the reviews, favourites and follows. I'm glad you're all enjoying it and I'd love to hear what you think of this one.**

**Special thanks to kaoscraze for putting up with all my flailing and keeping me on track :D**

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"Nats, wait. WAIT." Natasha ran down the stairs as fast as she could, away from the pounding of Connor's work boots as he pursued her. She barely made it as far as the lobby when he caught up to her and grabbed her arm. She struggled against his grip for a moment, trying to tear her arm out of his grasp, but when he refused to relent her body froze involuntarily and she stopped dead, looking down at the floor and focusing intently on the pattern in the floor tile. "Will ye at least hear _me_ out, if ye won't listen to Murph?"

_Don't react_, she reminded herself. _A reaction's what they want._

"Let go of me, please," she said calmly, her eyes still directed at the floor. He dropped his grip on her arm immediately, muttering an apology, and she felt a flash of annoyance that, despite her freedom, her feet stayed fixed in place rather than bolting out of the door as all her instincts told her to do. She focused on her breathing, the sound somehow becoming instantly amplified. _Inhale. Exhale._

"Look, it isn't Murph's fault ok?" he said, his voice quiet and appeasing.

"Hmm," she responded, squinting at the floor and following the swirl as it repeated itself. _Inhale. Exhale._

"It really isn't, Nats. Just come back up and let us explain. Please?"

"I'm late for work," she said flatly, eyes still on the ground. _Inhale. Exhale. Don't react. Inhale. Exhale._

"I'll drive ye up after, I'm sure Kate'll understand." His voice was firmer now, insistent.

She resisted the desperate urge to respond, to bite back, and continued staring resolutely down. _Inhale. Exhale._ She sensed his body sag a little in defeat, a soft sigh signalling his acceptance of her refusal to go back up to the apartment.

"Well, I'll just tell ye here then. This isn't Murph's fault, Nats. It's…it's mine." His voice took on a guilty edge in the last statement and she looked up at him curiously, despite herself, as he continued. "It was Smecker's plan, and I…I agreed to it. He thought it was the best way to keep ye safe, away from all these sickos that we found ye with. Murph never wanted to lie, though. We kinda…well, truth be told, we pushed him into it. _I _pushed him into it. And when ye came up just now, that was him tryin' to get me to come clean. He never _wanted_ to lie to ye Nats, I swear."

She lost track of her breathing as she met his gaze. His blue eyes—so like Murphy's and yet so very different at the same time—were fixed on hers, his voice imploring. _It would be so easy to believe him_, she thought. So easy to believe what seemed like the genuine tone to his voice, the shame he had painted on his face. She wanted nothing more than to follow him back up the stairs, lose herself in Murphy's embrace and pretend that the last few minutes hadn't happened. She couldn't though. _They lied. Can't trust liars. Can't trust _anyone_._

"I trusted him, Connor. I trusted _you_. And now…," she trailed off, looking back down at the floor. _Stop talking. What did you say that for?_

"I know ye did, I know. I know we let ye down and I'm sorry for that, I truly am. But Nats, ye _can_ trust us. Ye can." She gave a barely audible snort, and out of the corner of her eye she saw his arm snake up to tug on his hair in a gesture strangely reminiscent of his brother. "Look, your da…he's not a good man, right? Ye wouldn't have been safe with him."

_Not a good man._ She mulled that over. He and Murphy seemed to have a very strict definition of good men. She wondered how her father fell outside those standards, and how Connor could even know about it. And then she pondered what he meant by not safe, and if it was the same thing she did.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't reply and he pressed on, his obvious frustration colouring his tone. "Nats, I know ye're mad at us, but ye've gotta see our side of it here. We were tryin' to look out for ye, the best we could."

She shook her head, turning away from him and biting her lip as bitter tears stung at her eyes. Did he really think that made it ok? Hadn't she told Murphy already about making decisions for her, how that was something she could never accept? Why, _why_ hadn't he listened? Why couldn't he have just told her the truth?

Connor's voice took on a concerned edge as he gripped her shoulders gently, shaking her a little as he spoke. "I need ye to listen to me, ok? Be as mad as ye like. Take as long as ye like to deal with all of this. I know you're mad at Murph right now but please, don't do anythin' daft." He inched around her, turning her to face him and pulling up her face to meet his eyes. "He loves ye, Nats. I know he probably hasn't told ye, but he does."

She looked at him sadly. "I don't even know what that means." _Stop talking. Now._

His expression changed, went from earnest to…_pitying_, she thought resentfully. "OK, ye need some space, I get that. Some time to think all this through. Maybe we can all sit down and talk about it tonight, after work?"

She had said too much. Far too much. How was it that two months with these men had her already forgetting all the walls she'd built, all the tactics she'd perfected in order to protect herself? _I need to get away._

She painted a smile onto her face, brightened her expression as best as she could manage. "OK," she said softly. "I'll see you after work. But I need to go, I'm late."

She pulled away from him, ignoring him as he called after her, and turned her back, pushing at the door in a desperate bid to escape. She kept her composure until she burst out of the apartment building, the cold air hitting her full in the face and causing her to inhale sharply, the sudden intake of oxygen burning her lungs. She gasped, and the gasp turned into a shuddering sob that she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle. She stumbled down the street a little, veering off into an alley and sinking onto the ground. She couldn't stop the sobs any more and she hugged her knees into her chest as they came chokingly fast, hot tears scorching down her face.

She pressed her face into the thick fabric of her jeans, rocking herself back and forth slightly as she sucked in gulps of air and tried desperately to calm down. _Breathe, breathe. Breathebreathebreathe._

Her stomach was churning, her head a maelstrom of conflicting emotion. She wanted Murphy. She wanted to run back up the street, up the stairs to the apartment and have him hold her, whisper to her in Gaelic the way he always did to make it ok and just tell him it didn't matter. But she was angry too, so angry it scared her. How _dare_ they keep this from her? How could he have done that, made her feel that way, made her think that she might actually be beginning to have inkling of what love and friendship meant, just to rip it all away. It wasn't just Murphy and Connor she was angry with though. Most of the anger she directed internally, raging against herself for her own utter stupidity.

How had she let this happen? She had rules, rules that she'd put in place precisely to prevent this type of thing from happening to her again and yet she'd slipped, she'd let them in, she'd dropped her guard.

She knew why, really. She'd wanted so desperately to believe that it was true—that there was a happy ending out there for her—that she'd let her defences down and let them in. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ How could she have let herself believe it, that this would ever—_could _ever—work out for her?

_You don't get a happy ending._ The voice—_his_ voice, harsh and sneering—broke into her mind and she twisted her hair between her fingers, pulling at it and banging her fists on her head to make it stop. She didn't need his voice in her head, and she certainly didn't want it there. She already knew that he was right.

People like her—broken, dirty people—didn't get happy endings. Didn't deserve them. And they certainly didn't get rescued, didn't have the handsome prince fall in love with them. How could she have let herself fall for it, believe that someone like Murphy could ever be interested in someone like her?

But she had believed it, believed it like it was the one constant she based her existence around, and now she was lost, cast adrift. And now what? What did people do when they were alone? The realisation crashed down on her. Alone. _Alone._ That scared even more than her anger did. She'd never been alone, not that she could remember. What was she supposed to do now?

Everything she had revolved round Murphy and Connor. Her home was with them, her job was somewhere they all frequented regularly, her whole _life_ was built with them at its core_. _Even, she realised with a humourless chuckle that quickly turned into another gasping sob, even her entire self. She'd been empty when they found her, a shell of a person. And so she'd learned her whole personality with them and from them, learned what food she liked, which books to read, which music moved her, which movies held her interest long enough to watch the whole thing and then debate it with Connor afterwards. She'd learned about joking and when to do it, she'd found so many little quirks in her behaviour on those long afternoons with Murphy. She'd learned about lovemaking, that it existed and that it felt good, that she could make him bare his soul to her with the movements of her body and that in return he could have the same effect on her. All of those things, the things she thought made up her personality, that made her unique and special. Had that all been a lie too?

_Special, _that awful sneering voice snorted in her head, mocking her. _You've never been special. You're no one. Just another whore._

She had been no one when they found her. Maybe she was no one again. Maybe she _should_ just nod and smile and say she forgave them. Surely she could pretend? Forget this ever happened. They'd been good to her, taken care of her. _Because they wanted something from you. Why else would they keep you around?_

She wished that stupid voice would shut up. It was right though, much as she hated to admit it. People lied when they wanted something, and she didn't do what people wanted. Refused to do it, didn't give in. So she couldn't go back, even if she wanted to, because it was what Murphy and Connor wanted her to do.

And then she realised. She wasn't no one, not any more. Natasha Wilson, that was what their police friend had told her. That at least had to be true, surely? And Natasha Wilson had a life. She had a home and a family. She just needed to find it.

Connor's voice niggled at her, but she batted it away. They were liars. They'd tried to keep her away from her family, and Connor was still trying. No. She was going to make her own choices.

She took a breath, swiped at her eyes and stood up.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello again, lovelies! So, after the uber long wait for the last chapter, you get this one in record quick time! Thank you as always for all the feedback – there was some great reviews last chapter with feedback on where things were going! I do have a plan, so worry not! Everything will (probably!) work out in the end.**

**So, I thought I'd have a bit of a ramble about my thought processes so far – if you don't want to read it just skip past the rest of this and enjoy the chapter! I'd love to hear what you think of it!**

**Right, so when I started this story I placed Connor and Murphy with some issues – Connor suffering from some residual trauma as a result of Murphy nearly being killed by the Russians (and as a result – being both too protective and too dependent on Murphy) and Murphy with some serious guilt over Rocco dying and being scared to let anyone get close as a result. Murphy's issues have kind of been addressed via his relationship with Tash, but Connor's are still ongoing and colour a lot of his choices (like his frankly stupid decision last chapter to let Natasha go off to work without a second thought).**

**Meanwhile, Natasha herself entered the story with some serious issues of her own, which flare up at various points. Please don't be mad at her, we've already seen that she often reacts irrationally to things that most people wouldn't – she's had a lot of bad stuff happen to her and she's very damaged as a result. She made a gut decision to trust the boys, and with the revelation of them having lied to her she feels that trust was misplaced and she's feeling very lost and alone right now. Clearly that could have been avoided if the boys had told her the truth at the start – I firmly believe that Smecker under-estimated her and that she wouldn't have freaked out at all, she would have gone along with them just as she did with them lying.**

**I had a plan when I started, and this part of the plot is central to it. Tash makes the choice she made in the last chapter as a direct result of the boys' decision to lie to her – which will open up some interesting character development for Connor in particular which will hopefully move him forward (because I have plans for a sequel maybe, if anyone's interested?). It will also have implications for Murph and Tash's relationship, so it's quite important.**

**Anyway, I've rambled enough but I hope that it's made some of the choices make more sense. I love any feedback really, so if you've got questions or comments about why the characters are doing certain things I'd really love to hear and I'm happy to answer :)**

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Connor tightened his grip on the steering wheel, shooting another worried look at his brother. Murphy was staring grimly out of the front windscreen, his mouth fixed in a thin line as he twisted his fingers together. He'd been distracted like that all day, non-responsive mostly. Connor had given up trying to get him to lighten up after the first dozen or so attempts, instead letting him stew over whatever was whirling round his mind. He didn't see what the problem was. Natasha had seemed fine enough when he'd spoken to her, in shock clearly but she'd agreed to see them after work and he saw no reason why she wouldn't listen to them and see their side. Murphy was just worrying over nothing.

He'd been a little unsure when she'd walked out of the apartment building that morning whether or not he should go after her, maybe just tag along and make sure she got to work ok. In the end though he'd given Murphy priority, gone back to check if he was alright. And of course, Murph being Murph he'd flown off the handle, reacted with his fists. It had been a struggle for Connor not to react, to throw a punch back, but he'd known that what his twin needed was to blow up so that he could calm down and get some perspective and so he'd taken the anger, let Murphy get it out. He'd calmed down alright, but the perspective didn't seem to be coming any time soon—Murphy was as good as sulking and he had been all day.

He didn't even understand what the big deal was—ok, so they'd lied but it wasn't like they'd been trying to hurt her. Hell, they'd been trying to keep her safe. And sure, he understood what Murphy had tried to explain about what had happened to her in the past, it had made him feel queasy, but that wasn't what _they_ had done. They'd told her one teeny little half-truth, and other than that they'd been upfront about everything—even their calling. She couldn't ask for more than that. There was no reason for anyone to be getting all overdramatic about it. It wasn't like it was his fault…well, ok it _was_ sort of his fault. He'd made the call to go with Smecker's plan. But Murphy had gone along with it, even if it had been under protest, and Murphy had been the one to bring it up that morning, just in time for her to overhear them. Brilliant fucking timing that had been.

It had been a great fortnight up until that point too—Murph and Nats had been shagging like wild animals but at least they'd stopped gazing longingly at each other over the breakfast table. Connor had to admit that he hadn't seen his brother as happy as that in a long time, and Natasha had been a lot less unpredictable too. There'd been an air of joviality in the apartment, one Connor found he actually quite enjoyed, and the whole situation in general had begun to feel a whole lot less desperate. He'd even started toying with the idea of her coming along with them again, after they'd done this job. He reckoned he could get on board with that. And then Murph had gone and opened his big mouth and a can of worms right along with it.

He pulled up outside the diner, killing the engine and pausing for a moment before stepping out. "It's gonna be fine, Murph," he said quietly. Murphy just grunted and slipped out of the car, slamming the door behind him and leaning against the side of the car as he chewed on his thumb nail.

He strolled forward into the diner, Murphy trailing after him with none of his usual exuberance. He stole a look back over his shoulder; taking in his brother's drooped head, curled in shoulders and knitted eyebrows. He paused, grabbed his twin's shoulders and ducked down to look him in the eye. "It'll be _fine._ Just tell her your side of things and say you're sorry, and we'll be golden."

"Aye, so ye said," Murphy muttered.

"Well, what's wrong with ye then?"

"Nothin'."

"Aye, well try tellin' your face that. Whole lot of fuss about nothin', this is." Murphy just frowned deeper in response, drawing his eyebrows closer together and staring at the ground. Connor sighed and pushed the door open, raking his eyes over the room for Natasha. All he found was a frazzled looking Kate, balancing plates in one hand as she nudged the gate to the kitchen open with her hip. The pile of plates wobbled slightly and he dashed over to steady them, grabbing the top half and setting them down on the counter. Kate nodded her thanks, placing the bottom pile down and swiping the back of her hand over her forehead.

"Afternoon lass," Connor greeted her, a cheerful grin playing on his lips as he peered past her into the kitchen. "Mind if we borrow our girl for a minute?"

"You'll have a job, she's not here," Kate responded, barely pausing for breath as she bustled down the counter collecting coffee mugs.

Connor's heart sank as he heard Murphy burst into life behind him. "Not here? What d'ye mean? Where is she?" His twin's voice was rough and hoarse, edged with barely controlled panic, and for the first time Connor wondered if he'd made the wrong call earlier that morning when he'd chosen not to follow Natasha out.

"Your guess is as good as mine. She called this morning—when she was already late, mind—to say she wasn't feeling right and that she wouldn't be in."

Murphy shot an accusing look at Connor. "Ye told me she was fine. Said she was goin' to work when she left."

"Aye, well that's what she told me," Connor retorted, sounding slightly confused as he recalled his conversation with Natasha that morning. Realisation dawned. "I can't fuckin' believe it!" he exclaimed incredulously, feeling quite affronted. "She fuckin' _lied_ to me."

"Aye, fancy that, eh?" Murphy retorted, eyes blazing as he shot his brother a murderous look. "What did ye say to her, eh?"

"What d'ye mean, what did I say to her?" Connor asked, his face creasing in confusion. He'd been perfectly nice to her is what he'd been.

"This morning. When ye went after her," Murphy said, speaking slowly and patiently as if he was talking to a small child. Connor thought his brother sounded tired more that anything though, worn down and weary. "What did ye say? What did _she_ say?" Connor had been surprised that Murphy hadn't asked him that earlier, but he suspected now that it had been self-preservation on his twin's part. Murphy hadn't wanted to know in case he didn't like the answer, but now it was very much needed regardless of the pain he knew it might cause himself. Connor was thankful that there really _wasn't_ much to tell.

Connor sighed and scratched the back of his neck. He was fairly certain his answer wouldn't help and would only serve to piss Murphy off further, but there was no way of getting out of it. "Nothin', really. I asked her to come back up, but she wouldn't. So I explained to her, told her that it was done to keep her safe." He looked over at Murphy who didn't respond, only raised his eyebrows to indicate that Connor should continue. "That was it! She was quieter than usual, but she told me she'd meet us here after work and then she left." It was an edited version, but it covered enough he thought. He certainly wasn't going to tell him all of it.

_He loves ye, Nats._

_I don't even know what that means._

It was funny how, despite all the progress they'd made, she still had the ability to freak him out with one look, one tiny glimpse into her head. There was no doubt at all in Connor's mind that Murphy _did_ love her; he had no doubt that she felt the same either, despite her claim of not understanding. He supposed it was an understandable position, given her past. Love was a tricky thing to pin down at the best of times.

Murphy was glaring at him, his face twisted in confusion. "And ye just let her go? Ye didn't think to go after her?"

"No! Why would I—she was fine. She even smiled Murph, honest. I had no idea…" No idea that it had clearly all been a very convincing act.

Murphy threw his hands up in frustration, muttering curses under his breath as he began his usual routine of pacing that always accompanied deep thinking. He felt Kate's eyes on him and looked up to find the older woman staring at him, her eyebrows knitted together.

"I think you boys need to tell me exactly what is going on here," she said firmly. "Because I am getting the distinct idea that one of you has messed up somehow and that you had no idea that she wasn't coming in here today."

"Oh, it's nothing," Connor said with a false air of positivity. "Just a little misunderstandin', that's all."

In the corner of his eye he saw Murphy pause, and he was expecting the derisive snort when it came. "A fuckin' misunderstandin'?

"Aye," said Connor, firmly. Much as he liked Kate, he had no desire to be sharing their business with her. Murphy clearly had other ideas though, moving forward and settling at one of the stools at the counter. Kate turned to look at him, having clearly spotted that Murphy was the one to give her some answers.

"We fu—I mean, we _messed_ up," Murphy started, looking down at his hands. "Weren't exactly honest about some stuff. She found out."

"Hmm," Kate responded, crossing her arms over her chest. "And when you say stuff…?"

"Nothin'," Connor interjected, shooting a pointed look at his brother. "Just some stuff she didn't need to know."

"In _your_ opinion," Murphy shot back, straightening his back and jabbing a finger towards his twin.

"Hey, don't you fuckin' start, right?" Connor retorted.

"Language," scolded Kate, swatting at him with her dish cloth. She turned her attention back to Murphy, who sagged back down with a sigh.

"Some stuff about her," he admitted shamefully. "About her past. Stuff she had a right to know," he added, glaring at Connor again. Connor just rolled his eyes, not trusting himself to respond politely.

"Well, that's a fine mess you've got yourself into," Kate observed drily, and Murphy nodded and slumped down further, resting his head on the counter. "What are you going to do about it?" Murphy just shrugged from his slumped position, and she turned to Connor. "You?"

"Why me?"

"Well, it certainly sounds like you've had a hand in it."

"Mmm," he acknowledged.

"So what happened then, this talk you had with her this morning?"

"Nothin'," he insisted again. "Like I said to Murph, she was quiet but apart from that she was fine." He was more than a little offended when Kate let out a broad chuckle. "What?!"

"For two young men who've clearly been about a bit, you don't know the first thing about women, do you?"

"I know plenty, thanks all the same," Connor muttered defensively.

"First thing you need to know—you do something wrong, and a woman goes quiet? You're in big trouble."

"She said she was ok," Connor insisted. "She said that, plain as day."

"And you believed her? When she'd just found out you lied to her? Boy, I think you must be dumber than you look." Connor opened his mouth to respond, but then he thought better of it. He supposed she had a point. There was no reason for him to think Natasha wouldn't lie, other than his own stupid pride that had told him that if she had he would have figured it out.

"I'll tell you something for nothing though," Kate continued, and Murphy, his attention piqued, had lifted his head again, listening to Kate curiously. "I might not have known her very long, but there's been a change in her these last couple of weeks, a change for the better, and I've got a fair suspicion that you had something to do with it. Not only that," she said, turning to Murphy. "But I'm probably not wrong when I say she's the best thing to happen to _you_ in a long while too." Murphy jerked his head slightly in agreement and Connor felt something twist in his gut. Kate made a noise of acknowledgement before continuing, allowing herself the barest of smiles at finding she had been right. "So whatever it is you've done, I suggest you fix it—and be quick about it." Murphy opened his mouth and she cut him off. "Not a word, boy. She's a damn good waitress and I need all the hands I can get. Now get out of here and go and find her."

Connor muttered an acknowledgement under his breath and stalked to the door, his pride wounded. He turned, waiting for Murphy who was listening to something that Kate was saying to him quietly. He squinted, trying to read her lips, but they moved to fast for him to decipher it. He called his brother, nodding his head towards the door, and Murphy gave a barely-there nod in response, thanking Kate and saying goodbye before following his brother out onto the street.

They spent the rest of the afternoon traipsing all over town to all the places Murphy thought she might go, places they'd been together. Connor was surprised there were so many of them; he hadn't known most of these places were even there. He supposed that's what they got up to, all those afternoons they'd spent alone. They'd been exploring together, and as they passed through each one Murphy would—half wistful, half wooden-recital—explain what it was that had kept them coming back. A little coffee shop with more varieties than he even knew existed—_she likes to try a new one every time we come in. She scores them out of 10_. A particular spot in the big public park in the middle of town—_we'd just lie here and talk about shit. I'd tell her stories, stuff from back home before all this. Makes her laugh. _The sparse museum on the far side of the town, about as far away from their apartment as they could get—_she likes to learn stuff, anything at all. And she likes these paintings here, says they make her feel peaceful._ Place after place turned up nothing, with the exception of the library where the wizened little man behind the desk told them that she'd been in early that morning, had used the computers for about an hour and then left without a word. All in all, they had not a damn thing to go on and not a clue where to look next.

When the light started to fail he quietly suggested to Murphy that maybe they should go home, after all she might be there waiting for them after all this. Truthfully, he didn't think there was much chance of it at this point and he suspected Murphy didn't either, but his twin looked exhausted and drained of life. He'd sunk down to one word answers, his voice cold and hard, and Connor found himself wishing that he'd just get angry instead. He knew how to deal with angry Murphy, knew what to expect and the stages he went through. The cold, flat Murphy he was seeing right now unnerved him, put him on edge.

He found himself praying as they climbed the stairs wearily and turned the key in the lock. _Please let her be here. Let me fix this._ As he'd suspected though, the apartment was empty and somehow her absence seemed to make the tiny room feel even more grey and drab than usual. He stood in the doorway as Murphy moved past him, shrugging out of his coat and dropping in unceremoniously onto the sofa. He kicked his boots off in similar fashion, leaving them where they fell and moving towards the door of Natasha's room. He stopped dead in the doorway, and Connor realised that he'd gone to that room instinctively without thinking. He watched as his twin stood there for a moment, fighting some inner battle, before he moved forward into the room and clicked the door closed behind him.

Connor sagged against the wall, letting out a lungful of air he hadn't realised he'd been holding in. He had fucked up. Not even just a little fuck up either, this was huge. And for once in his life, Connor had no idea what to do.


	20. Chapter 20

**Hello again, my dears. You lot are getting spoiled this week, because this thing is writing itself just now.**

**Thank you as always for the feedback and welcome to my new readers/followers - thank you for all your support. Special thanks, as always, goes to kaoscraze for the help with planning and development and the finding all the parts that don't make sense - she makes it a better read for everyone!**

**So next chapter - here's where we find out what Natasha has been up to. Hope you like it - let me know what you think!**

* * *

Natasha walked cautiously to the end of the alleyway, flattening herself against the wall and chancing a brief look out, back down the street to where the apartment was. She didn't want to risk them seeing her, but she quickly noted that Connor's car was gone. _They've gone to work._ She let out a shaky breath in relief, and then took a couple more to calm her pounding heart. She stepped out onto the street, pulling the hood of her jumper up over her head, holding the edges over her face so it was hidden. Her body language had changed already, leaving behind the confident, open strides she'd used in the last few weeks and instead curling her shoulders forward and letting her head hang down a little so that she looked as invisible as possible. She walked briskly towards the library, glancing up every now and then to check her bearings even though she knew the route well.

When she reached the building and pushed the door open to get inside, she took a short moment to drink in the familiar surroundings and allow them to comfort her. She liked it here, it was where she came when both the brothers were working and she wasn't. There was just so much _knowledge_ inside, new things to learn on one side, different worlds to slip into on the other.

She walked purposefully to the counter, peering over it to find Roger, the librarian, pottering about behind the desk sorting books into one pile or another. She liked Roger. He was probably the oldest person she'd ever met, about four-foot-eleven tall and his face looked like a prune, but he was also kind and patient and he always took time out of his day for her. The first time she'd ever come in here, she hadn't really known what it was or what it was _for._ Roger had been half-confused, half-horrified at the revelation and had spent the afternoon collecting together books he told her she must read. Every week she came back and he'd have a new pile he'd set aside for her, and she obediently read them and loved them and thanked him profusely. But it wasn't the books she was there for today.

He sensed the movement behind him and looked up, a smile creasing his aged features before it morphed into a confused frown. "Is everything ok, dear? You're three days early."

"Everything's fine," she lied, returning his kind smile with a weak one of her own. "I just…I wanted to find out something. And you always know how."

"What is it you need?"

"Well, I wanted to…I need to…is there a way, maybe that you can search for information about a person? Not a historical figure, but someone alive right now?"

"Well, it depends what sort of information you need, dear? Who is the person?"

_Me_, she thought, but thought better of telling him. Connor and Murphy might come asking questions, and she didn't want him to have any information to give. "I'm not sure yet. I have a surname, would that help?"

"Perhaps," the old man said, coming round from behind the counter. "We had these computers put in last week," he said, gesturing towards a desk in the reference section, set up with two large monitors on the surface, two tall boxes underneath and a tangle of wires between the two. "I'm not sure quite how they work yet, but let's give it a try shall we?"

She grinned at him then, and nodded eagerly. He led the way over, pushing a button on the front on one of the towers and another on the monitor. It took a few moments to start up, and then Roger used a smaller object next to the keyboard to click on one of the icons. "This is the mouse," he explained, lifting it off the desk slightly. "When you move it, the arrow on the screen moves, and that's how you choose what you want to look at." A white screen with a box in the centre popped up, and she looked at him questioningly. "The boy that came in to set these up told me that you just type in here what you want to find," he said. "And then click here. When the results come up, you just click the one you want to read. Think you've got it?"

She nodded, moving past him to perch on the chair. He hovered a little over her should, and she looked up at him awkwardly. He caught the glance and recognised its meaning instantly, and he murmured something about having things to do and bustled back to the counter. She smiled to herself. She really _did_ like Roger.

She looked at the screen blankly for a moment, unsure where to begin. The name _Wilson_ wasn't much to go on; there would presumably be lots of people with that last name. She thought for a moment before leaning forward and painstakingly typing _Natasha Wilson missing_ into the search box. It took her a few attempts to get the arrow to hover where she needed it to, finding the operation of the mouse to take more skill than it had appeared to when Roger did it, but she managed it. She clicked the button as Roger had instructed, and leaned back in the chair as the results page loaded. It came back with several links that mentioned one or other of the words she'd searched for, but one in particular caught her eye.

_**Boston shipping magnate holds memorial for missing daughter**_

Her interest piqued, she clicked on that link, waited for it to load and started to read.

_Oliver Wilson, of Wilson Shipping Inc., held a memorial service yesterday for his missing teenage daughter who is now presumed dead. Natasha Wilson has not been seen for three months, since she left to meet a friend for an evening out. Speaking at the service, which was held on what would have been Natasha's 19th birthday, Mr Wilson (pictured with his late wife and then-infant daughter) said that the loss of his daughter, who was the businessman's only child, had left him broken._

She peered curiously at the photograph accompanying the article, the one of her mother and father. It was difficult to see it clearly, it was small and black and white and the monitor's flickering didn't help, but she stared at their faces and tried to force even the smallest fragment of recognition. Her mother was beautiful, staring down at the infant in her arms with a blissful look, and while her father wasn't what she would call handsome he had a nice face and he was looking at her mother the same way Murphy looked—used to look, she reminded herself—at her, like he couldn't believe his luck. She thought that maybe she looked like her mother, a little. Not as beautiful, but the same face and long dark hair. She wondered what had happened to her, how long they'd spent together. The article didn't seem to mention it.

It took her a minute to work out how to search again, but then she brought the white screen up back and this time she typed in _Oliver Wilson_. This time nearly all the results were related to what she wanted to know, and she scrolled through the summaries. _Oliver Wilson, speaking at the 21__st__ Tasha's Toys appeal… Oliver Wilson, whose company donated $1m to the relief efforts yesterday… Wilson Shipping Inc. sits at number three on the list of the humanitarian efforts of major companies…_

All of them seemed to say similar things. He pledged money to relief efforts during natural disasters. He held charity galas and donated expensive items to auctions. He'd set up a children's charity the year she was born and continued to hold an annual appeal on its behalf even after she went missing. These surely could not be the actions of a bad man?

She went back to the white screen and this time looked for travel information. The results that came back told her it would take almost a full day to get to where she needed to go, but she didn't care. It wasn't like she had anything better to do. She pulled her wallet out of her bag, checked how much cash she had. It seemed fuller than she'd expected, and then she remembered that Kate had paid her yesterday along with a wodge of tips. That had been pretty good timing, in hindsight. She would need to call Kate, actually. Tell her she wouldn't be coming in. She'd probably left her short-handed and she felt bad for it, but it couldn't be helped.

She checked the page again, and grabbed her notebook from the bag. She paused for a moment, ran her thumb briefly over the soft cover. The pad was full of rough scribbles, odd words or doodles, that didn't make much sense to her, let alone anyone else. Murphy had bought it for her, the first week they'd moved here. He'd thought it might help, after the dreams, if she wrote down what she remembered. It had in a way, she liked having a record of them, but it hadn't made much of a difference to the dreams themselves.

She flipped to the back, smoothed the page down and carefully copied down the information she'd found. Bus to Akron, the nearest big city. Long distance train to Boston. Another bus. Her father's address. A map of how to get there from the bus station. She had no idea what she intended to do when she got there, but she supposed she'd figure it out.

* * *

She awoke with a start when the train rattled into Boston. It had taken even longer than she'd expected—it was now mid-morning of the following day and she still had another bus journey to go. She stretched her arms out, rotating her shoulders and pulling on her neck. She'd been in the same seat for twelve hours, and it hurt to move.

It reminded her a little of the last long distance journey she'd done, with Connor and Murphy in the car. That had been an uncomfortable journey too, although for different reasons. That time she'd been quietly hopeful for the future, despite the brothers' bickering; this time all she could focus on is getting to her dad's house because she wasn't sure what happened after that. For the briefest of moments, her thoughts wandered and she found herself wondering if Murphy was ok, if he was worried, if they were looking for her. She pushed the thoughts away. He'd lied. It had all been a lie, some sick joke. When she thought about him it hurt, a deep, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, and so she wasn't going to think about him. She wasn't.

She stepped off the train, squinting in the bright sunlight that was streaming through the windows as she moved out into the concourse. She wondered briefly about taking a walk out into the city, maybe exploring a little, and then immediately decided against it. Connor and Murphy used to live here after all, and Murphy had told her that they had friends in the police here. She couldn't risk being seen. Her stomach growled at her loudly, and she remembered that she hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day. Breakfast with Connor and Murphy, after she and Murphy had—no, she was looking for food.

She stopped to buy a takeaway coffee and a soggy looking pastry. She nibbled at it as she studied the information on the wall that told her how to find the bus station. She took a sip of the coffee, frowning a little distastefully. It was lukewarm, and almost tasteless. There had been a coffee shop at home—no, _not_ home—that had made lovely coffee. Murphy used to—no, she wasn't supposed to be thinking about him. She had a bus to catch. She gulped it down quickly, throwing the cardboard cup and the remains of the pastry into a nearby rubbish bin, and rubbed her hands together to get rid of the crumbs. She made quick stop at the bathroom, and then went to catch her bus.

This last part of her journey was thankfully brief, because the combination of nerves, her hurried breakfast and the motion of the bus made her feel more than a little bit nauseous. When it pulled off, she was already hovering at the door waiting to get off, and as soon as the doors opened she was out onto the pavement. She stood for a moment, hands on her hips and bent over slightly, sucking in deep breaths of air until the queasy feeling subsided and then reached for her notebook to check the directions. Her father's house was a brief 10 minute walk according to the instructions, but she walked so briskly that it had barely been five when she arrived outside.

This was the part that her plan hadn't quite covered. She'd been fine when it came to the logistics, working out how to get here. But now…did she just go and knock on the door? That seemed a bit…well, it didn't seem like that's what you were supposed to do. She chuckled a little—she didn't suppose there was a rule book for situations like this. She wrapped her hands around the railings, pulling her face closer and peering throw. The house looked huge, like something in one of Connor's movies.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, just looking and thinking, coming up with one plan or another, deciding to go to the door and then losing her nerve. She was in the process of psyching herself up again when she heard the voice behind her.

"Hey, what d'ya think you're doing?" The voice was stern and authoritative, and she realised too late that it probably looked more than a little suspicious, her standing there in her scruffy jeans and sneakers staring at well-off people's houses. She turned round, ready to apologise, but the look on the man's face when she did so stopped her short. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

_He knows me._ Her first instinct, as it always was, was to run, but for some reason she didn't. Curiosity, mainly. This was the first person she'd met who'd known her from before. She looked at the man with interest, wondering how well they'd known each other. He was about the same age as her, maybe a little older, with deep brown eyes, an almost comical goatee beard and long black hair styled into an outrageous looking Mohawk. He was gaping at her, looking her up and down and repeatedly opening and closing his eyes as though he thought she was a figment of his imagination that would vanish if he tried hard enough.

When she didn't, he finally spoke. "Natasha? But…but you're…you're…"

"I know," she said quietly. "I know I'm supposed to be dead."

"_Supposed_ to be? No fuckin' supposed to be about it," he cried, suddenly bursting into life. "There was an _investigation_, cops said ya were dead. Not supposed to be. Ya _were._"

She shrugged lightly. "Well, I'm not."

"Well where the fuck have ya been? What the fuck were ya thinking, huh?"

She frowned, mulling it over. He thought she'd been gone on purpose? Strange. "I…there…look, I'm really sorry but I don't even know who you are. I don't know what happened, I don't know why I was gone, I don't know why I'm back. I don't…I just…" The words came pouring out of her and the man, now looking slightly less angry but even more confused cut in.

"The fuck ya mean ya don't know who I am? We grew up together for fuck's sake!"

"Yeah, well I don't remember any of that," she said ruefully. "I don't remember anything."

He looked at her sceptically. "Nothing?"

"Not a thing," she confirmed.

"Fuck." She nodded, looking down at her shoes. "Well," he said, his tone brighter, and she looked back up in time to catch a beaming grin. "I'm Romeo." He held out his hand to her and she shook it hesitantly, smiling softly. "Let's get ya inside, eh? Sure your Pops will be the happiest man alive when he sees you."

She followed him over to the gate where he typed in a code into a little keypad. _Didn't notice that, did you? Looks like you weren't getting in by yourself anyway._ The gates opened automatically, and Romeo strode up the driveway as she trailed behind him. She hung back a little when he went to the front door and he rolled his eyes at her and took her hand, tugging her along with him. He opened the door, exchanged a brief word with someone inside and then pulled her inside after him. She had to pause to take in the opulence of the entrance hall, a huge open space with a magnificent staircase leading upstairs. There was something…something not quite right, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She wanted to take a moment to let it settle, but he was already pulling her down the hallway, passing several doors until he stopped at one and gave it a sharp knock.

It opened and she heard his side of the brief conversation.

"Yes, I know sir…_yes_ I remembered…but sir…sir you're gonna want to see this." He looked back at her and jerked his head towards the door. She took a hesitant step forward, meeting the eyes of the man behind the door with a nervous smile.

He was a lot older than he'd been in the picture obviously, there were streaks of grey in his hair and creases around his eyes, but she could see that it was the same man. He stared at her for a moment and then did a double take, his mouth opening in shock.

"Natasha?"

"Hey…Dad."


End file.
